Break the Chain
by iamthepassenger
Summary: This story is about a twenty something year old war veteran who finds herself battling walkers, people, and her own demons in the Walking Dead universe.
1. Chapter One: The Middle

This story is pure fantasy and comes from my own demented head. My grammar, punctuation ect. aren't

the best, but I dropped out of college, so, I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. It gives me something

to do when sweet sleep escapes me on these cold, Winter nights.

Before all this, shit, well, I was in and out of mental health facilities. After the war and after what I experienced there, it fucked me up. I learned a lot. I've learned how to kill people. It's prepared me for this, the apocalypse, total collapse of this disgraced country. However I'm not stable and I lose grip on reality with every sunset. I'm not raving or mad like one of those things, but I'm dying slowly in my head. I can't escape myself. Self-preservation is the only thing keeping me going at this point. At night, I'll listen to the wind blow. During the day, I'll walk miles on foot, looking for something to believe in.

The people I've met so far were usually frightened by me. I'm not menacing in the least, but whatever bad energy I impose on others keeps them away from me. I'm just a woman, but I'm tall and have defined muscles from years of training, before all this shit, and even now, with the strain put on my body every day, I'm learning more about my physical ability.

Before, I had a mass of wavy golden hair, not too long, but I never really styled it either. It was always just kind of there. It hasn't changed. The only differences between before and after for me are two simple things. I'm always disgustingly coated in dirt, blood, vomit, and grime. The rivers here don't do much to wash it away, and recently, I stopped trying. It's not worth the effort most of the time. I'm more interested in food and ammunition.

The second thing is, I'm always carrying around my rifle in this new and dangerous world. I haven't used it in a few weeks, and I never do unless it absolutely calls for it. I have a few boxes of ammunition for my main weapon, but a dumb zombie doesn't get that honor. The last time I used it was on a person. A living, breathing person, who unfortunately had something I needed.

"Sucks for him," I said as I pulled his body from the bed of his truck. I had watched him in my scope from afar, in some tree line, breathing hard from the cold. My asthma is usually aggravated by the dry and cold air, but I deal with it when this time of year rolls around. The man, obviously part of some badass mercenary group unknown to me, was packing boxes of food and whatever else on the bed of his truck. He had an assault rifle around his back, a machete at his hip, and a nasty look on his face. He looked as though he was angry about something. I could see his lips move through my scope, from my vantage point, and barely audible cursing graced my ears.

"Say goodbye," I whisper as I line up my shot. My mind is working overtime during these intense moments. During my training, I won sharpshooter at boot camp. From then on, I trained mainly in rifles and close quarters combat. After training, they shipped off in a tin can and dropped in the middle of the desert to pick off malcontents from a mile away. Without a spotter, it is kind of difficult to take in all variables, but I never am that far away from my targets. I find a way to sneak closer, get in personal with them sometimes if need be, and it eases the worry I have of actually missing.

The shot rang out fast and loud, hitting the intended target in the back of the head. A glorious splatter of brain matter and blood shot out in all directions. I didn't waste a minute scurrying towards his supplies. He had food and ammunition, and I gathered all I could then. "Where are your friends?" I thought to myself. It was strange, but I scouted the location in every direction, and no one else was around. I made off with two backpacks full of food and medicine like a bandit in the night.

That leads me to where I am now, in a Mexicali stand-off with some assholes from around these parts. "What have I got myself into?" I think to myself. It's weird there's real groups of once regular jack offs or convicts running wild in the Georgia winter, but here I am, hiding in some garage, hoping to whatever asshole created this world I can find a way out of this. I pull my cargo jacket tight around me. Normally, I wear a ski mask or a scarf of some sort over my head to hide my light hair. It's a dead giveaway most of the time. This time I opted for a black headscarf I found in a nursing home I tried to scavenge, but it had already been picked clean by the time I arrived.

I peer out of this broken second floor window down the street below me. The advantage is I can see all of those dumb asses from my spot at the garage, top of the street, but they have numbers. Numbers, I think, trumps any skill or cleverness I may have. I counted seven. They haven't found my new hiding spot yet, but if I give them time, they will.

"Come on out!"

"You bitch!"

Their words taunt me, but I keep myself under control for the time being. I had to go somewhere. I couldn't just sit here like a fucking idiot. The town hall offered excellent views, but the trouble of actually getting there undetected worries me. "Go check upstairs!"

Shit. They're inside the garage now. From what I can hear, there's only two. The rest had fanned out to look around the small town we were in. My body works slowly as I lay my rifle against the window sill, and unsheath a hunting knife from its place at my side. Slow. Slow. Slow. I'm inching my way to the only door to the upstairs loft, and hide by it, waiting for my prey. He's lumbering up the winding metal stairs unaware of what waits him.

The door cracks open, and he steps into the dark and trashed room. He's short and dirty looking. "Fuck," he curses as his flashlight flickers on and off. I'm only a few feet away from him, and he doesn't notice me yet. Very slowly, I use a gloved hand to shut the door he walked in from. That gets his attention, but in that minute moment, I pounce on him. We fall to the floor in a heap, but he can't scream because of my hand over his mouth, and the knife to his throat. We lock eyes. His fear makes him unable to move. I swallow all emotions I feel, the few I do, if they're even there, and cut open his throat.

He gurgles for a minute or two, coating me in his disgusting blood, and just passes out, or dies. I don't wait to get down the stairs and find my next target. He's outside now. The nameless bandit dies in the same way as his friend, choking on his own blood. My escape from the garage is swift, and I sprint down the street towards the town hall. A few walkers amble about, but there's not enough for me to worry about. Anyway, I will use them as a defense against those bastards if they try to corner me. I can have numbers, too.

I'm up the stairs and at my next vantage point in a matter of minutes. I lock the door behind me . "Now, where are you?" I whisper to myself as I scan my scope. There are five left for me to dispatch, and two now stand over their dying friend, in the street, like a couple of sitting ducks. "Four," I say as I pull the trigger, hitting one in the back. "Three," I say again as I snap the bolt of my rifle back into place, placing another round in the chamber, and take aim at the other one. He's dead, too. I'm sure of this one. I shot him in the neck.

A truck roars to life in the distance now, and it's headlights come racing towards the sound of my gun fire. Three. Two in the front and one in the back, weapon ready, aimed where he thinks I'm at. He starts firing random shots into different buildings. My heart is beating like a bass drum against my chest. Whatever calmness I had about the situation is lost when I see these rednecks driving towards me like an apocalyptic chariot.

I take aim at the driver, but I miss. I miss again, again, and finally I hit him. He swerves and crashes into the front of the town hall. The collision sends a shockwave throughout the building, knocking dust and furniture loose. They know where I am now and shoot hell fire in my direction. My instincts kick in, and I jump to the floor, before I know it I'm crawling to the back of the room. I can only listen as they enter the building, shoot the walkers, and climb the staircase. Damn. Fuck. Shit. What do I do? The walkers didn't do anything to slow them down. Not one bit. As pathetic as it is, I was hoping they could do something against men with automatic weapons.

"Come on out, girly! We aren't gonna hurt ya!" One of them yells through the hall. "We just want to teach you a lesson," he adds.

I aim towards the door and listen to approaching footsteps. My knuckles rap against the wall behind me, and I aim towards the middle of the door as the man approaches. He tries the doorknob and I fire. Assuming I hit him, considering the groans and screams, I unlock the door and peak out into the hall. He's bleeding from a gut shot. Very painful, but not anything immediately deadly. His yelling attracts the attention of his friend, and I wait with my rifle aimed down the hall. As soon as he peeks his head around the corner, he lets go a hail of gunfire in my direction, ripping apart his friend's body, sending the man to the depths of hell.

He rushes the door, but he's too slow. I've already locked it. He slams his heavy body into it repeatedly, when he's away from the door, I open it, and he comes charging into the room at full speed. He's not easy to trip, it is almost comical how he falls with such a simple action.

"You bitch! BITCH!" He cries, looking up at me, into the barrel of a gun. "What the fuck? That's some bugs bunny shit."

I shrug. "Give me all your weapons," I command. "One false move and you're dead. You're the lucky one," I smile wide. "You won't die if you don't want to. Now do what I say, dumbass."

"Fine, fine," he mutters, throwing all of his possessions at my feet. He's kneeling, looks up to me, and then away like he's remembering something.

"Hey," I say, "Who do you work for?"

"It doesn't matter now," he replies solemnly. "You're dead, anyway, Negan's coming for your ass now. After all this!" I shrug again like a nonchalant jerk, unafraid, or maybe, unaware of how mean this Negan guy is. His lackeys seem dumb as rocks, which says a lot about his judgment. His warriors do not make me flinch.

"Negan, you said?" I ask, inflecting the last words a little higher than normal. I crouch down, and grab the handgun he had thrown at my feet, pressure check it, and find that it's loaded. I point it towards his face, right in there, and his eyes widen.

"You go tell Negan I said, "come find me."


	2. Chapter Two: The Gold Lion

_CHAPTER TWO: THE GOLD LION_

I wake up this morning feeling all the repercussions of yesterday's antics. I regret nothing now, but there's an itching feeling in my mind that I forcefully will away, to forget, until it comes biting me in the ass down the road. Negan's pathetic army of sloppy killers and try-hards has no chance against a phantom like me. I'll pick off his men one by one, and raid supply cache after supply cache. Hell, I think I finally found the thing I've been searching for all this time. Day after day, down every winding road I've walked, every shitty dog food can, every close call. None of those things mattered to me. That's called surviving, and now I believe I have a reason to stick around this part of the country.

My long arms stretch wide above me as I yawn and shake the sleepiness from my body like a wet dog. I'm miles away from the town I was in last night, I think, sitting on the ledge of a parking garage watching the pale sun rise above the pine trees. The place was picked clean, like human coyotes and vultures descended after society collapsed, and stole everything there was to steal. There is nothing left for me to do except move on to the next place, and hope for some food or bullets. In the meantime, I'll pray Negan sends more of his boys to play with me.

It's brutally cold today, whatever today is, and my legs are hurting for some rest. However I refuse to stop anywhere on this shitty highway. It screams to me, from the trees, the road ahead. Maybe I'm being paranoid again, but I don't think that ever killed anyone, the only ones plotting against me are the rotting flesh eaters. They're getting slower and slower every month, I think.

Days go by where I see no one or nothing, but these dumb walkers. They laugh at me, berate me at times, and I can't shake their hollow eyes from my mind. It can't be that I've slipped this far. Not like this. Any day I'll finally give in to the voices screaming at me to turn my rifle on myself.

A sound rages in the distance, it's a car, old and beat down, but still moving at a high speed. I duck behind some brush and wait for it to come down the road. Maybe, just maybe, that dumbass sent some more of his boys out to do another supply run. But, it turns out to be a gray haired woman, in some sort of weird vehicle with spikes in it, like in Mad Max. I smirk at the thought. She isn't worth my time, though, and I just watch her pass. This woman has a very sad look on her face, and I can feel my stone heart start to splinter when I think about the look in her dreadful eyes.

I shake my head to get rid of the sad thoughts clouding my brain. Wherever she came from, I bet there's people, and where there's people, there's food. I'm ravenous now. It's been two days. Those damn idiots from Negan's place interrupted me in the middle of counting out all the loot I had stolen from them. I had to drop most of it, and carry my one little backpack, the one with all of my essentials. Whatever. I can't be mad about it now.

The woman drives down the road, over a hill, and out of view. I place my boots back on the asphalt and keep walking, one foot over the other, on a desperate chance that there's a place up ahead, a safe place, where I can try to find a bite to eat.

It's pure luck that the grey-haired lady drove by me earlier because I'm right. A self-satisfying grin spreads across my tanned face. It's some sort of cordoned off suburb, like a child's fort, except with giant ramshackle walls and a gate, with cars out front like the one the grey-haired woman was driving.

I'm always alone for personal reasons, but I'm desperate for something to eat. Also, this Negan business drives a thorn in my side, and something tells me I need to be around someone, anyone, to ground myself. My mind's becoming too foggy with the dark clouds of depression and self-hate. My hope is someone here will wash away the metaphorical dirt covering me. Someone to keep me going. Maybe I'm looking for a sign from some sort of divinity. Whatever the real reasons, I'll tell myself it's because I'm hungry.

Their guards atop the walls spot me, their yells echo towards me, and I can just feel the uneasiness in the still cold air. Suddenly, I'm very self-aware, unsure, and I want to run away like I just walked into the high-school cafeteria. Whatever, I tell myself, whatever. I finally make it up to their gate, see them pointing their dangerous guns at me, and I hold my hands up in defense.

"Who. Are. You?" The dark-skinned girl growls at me like a rabid dog.

"Jesus, lady, you're more paranoid than me," I smile, but quickly look away from her daring stare. She's making me feel suffocated. What kind of place is this? Someplace so bad they have to aim their guns at anyone who just happens by. If I'm being honest with myself, I usually pass up places like this, but I mean, I'm really, really hungry. "My name's Asad Ahabi," I finally say. "I'm just passing by, but I was wondering if I could get something to eat, it's been awhile, and I haven't seen anyone around for days. It says mercy for the lost, right?"

The woman, beautiful as she may be, becomes angrier and angrier with every word said. Her expression fades quickly when a voice calls from behind the gate, up at her, and asks her what's going on. "A woman's here," she answers back, relaxing into a stance where her rifle butt lays against her hip. "She has a rifle."

"Well," the voice says. Silence. Then a red-haired man appears at the chain-link gate. He's big, huge even, and has a very strange choice of facial hair, but who am I to judge someone? "You gotta give up all your weapons – mean all of them – and yeah, you can come in. But first," he says, "just don't move."

The gate opens up with the sound of screeching and squealing like I've never heard before. Who are these people? They're giving me the creeps, and that's hard to do. I give myself the creeps all the time, but it's hard to rationalize what I've seen so far.

"Abe," the guard warns from her place, "be careful."

Abe. His name is Abe. "Like Abraham?" I ask, handing over my rifle and backpack.

"Yeah, like Abraham," he answers. "Your knives – but, Abe will do."

Abraham takes me to a big chow hall where people are lounging about. It must be the time of day, I thought. There's gas heaters in a few corners, but the tangent cold refuses to walk away from this place. Goddamn the cold. A few people look our way, but continue to conversate as we walk by. A few nods are given to Abe and Sasha.

The girl, Sasha, I learned, is watching me eat. "How do you like the food?"

I look up from my meal of canned beans, hotdogs, chips and stale bread. Her brown eyes search my blue ones for answers to all the questions she had brimming in her mind. I knew she wanted to know more than that. "It's good," I answer, stuffing more beans into my mouth.

Abe appears again, stands beside his girl, and whispers something in her ear. She walks away, I presume back to her guard duties, and her large friend stands in front of me, a cigar in his mouth. He's very strange, but I guess I am, too.

"She's an awesome woman," he murmurs, but continues to talk about something else. "You should stay the night. I don't think you're a threat, and to me, it looks like you need to socialize."

"Thank you," I say before I can stop the words from coming out. Fuck myself. I don't even know these people. Should I really be lounging around this place? I take a good look around me. Everyone looks pretty normal to me, but from the things I've seen in this world, my surroundings can seem normal, but have the ability to change in an instant.

"Yeah," he answers gruffly, ashing his cigar. "You should check out all the things we have going on. There's a garden, books, and a lot of different people."

Finishing my food entirely, I grin at Abraham a genuine smile, and he smiles lightly back. "Okay, Abraham, I'll go check out everything. It's cold as shit outside, though."

Abraham shrugs. "Just don't cause any shit."

So, with his words in mind, I walk through the mostly empty streets of Alexandria. There were people milling about, but mostly, I am alone. I pass by buildings I have no idea what are for, there's people in there, I can hear them laughing or talking. The sights and sounds make me feel lonelier. Surrounded by people and yet no one to talk to or laugh with.

There's a few people gathered in what I can only call some sort of square, a gondola in the middle, it must have been a park. They're all standing silent, shivering in the cold, listening to a black man speak about the gospel.

"Jesus is forgiving," I can hear him say as I approach. "Do not let your sins weigh so heavy on your heart that you succumb to this disease, the disease of Evil," he preaches, with a soft tone. He's surprisingly calm for someone so into God. Usually those kinds of people drive me crazy, but there's nothing else to do, so, I stand there in the cold listening along with the other three people.

"Hey," a voice says, a warm hand on my shoulder. The warmth of this man's hand feels like heaven, and I'd do anything to feel that kind of heat encompassing my body like an electric glove. "Who are you?" He's gruff, like the other man, but he's prettier to look at.

We're about the same height, too, I note before speaking. "I'm a visitor," I answer blankly. I hold open my jacket in defense. "I'm not holding."

The man, hair like oak, stares me up and down. "And your head scarf?"

I undo the infernal thing for the stranger standing in front me. Despite both enjoying my hair natural and free, the act made me feel naked, like I had just removed a part of me.

"See?" I say, letting my wavy, greasy hair fall in waves around me, like a halo in one of those old Byzantine era paintings. "Nothing in the scarf."

He nods, still staring at me oddly. Before I can speak, he does, and it's the most wonderful words I've heard in years. "Do you want to take a shower?" He asks, even shrugging lightly as he does, as if he doesn't care if I say yes or no. "I mean," he trails off, looking away. "You're new and all."

"Of course," I answer, my smile hurt, and my soul ran with excitement. A working shower with warm water sounded like a fantasy two hours ago. "You're very kind," I add a moment later.

"I don't use the place that much, anyway," he explains. "There's not much for me except a place to lay my head."

His house contrasts his appearance, a biker of sorts, and it's strange how this world equalized all of us. No more money or society to tell people who is better than others.

"It's so warm," I exclaim, my heart fluttering like a butterfly in anticipation of the hot water rushing over me. "Thanks again, stranger," I say as he turns around to face me.

"It's Daryl," he informs me. "You're.. Welcome. You look like shit." Hands in my pocket, I laugh at him, my smile is genuine, again. I find myself noticing these things. It's a very strange feeling, just like this place, very strange. Those thoughts are quickly torn away when my new friend Daryl points me towards the bathroom. "There's towels in there, too."

In the bathroom I begin looking into the perfect mirror. Out there, I don't have time to take in my appearance, and Daryl is right, I do look very filthy. I look like shit, like a homeless. I'm only ever catching glimpses of myself in a store front or a polished glass, but looks aren't important to me as a person. Before all this, I thought I was beautiful yet incredibly damaged, and it felt like some sort of fucked up punishment for something I did in my past life. Too apathetic to realize my beauty, but too stubborn to even care about it. Besides, in this new world, your actions have more weight than your looks or words, and I can adapt to that.

My slender fingers reach up to my face, and begin to trace the outline of my upturned eyes, down my stained cheeks, tracing my petite nose and to where my full lips rest. I'm trying to remember all the senses of this moment, covered in a month's worth of grime and guts. I'm going to wash away this layer of filth until it builds up again. Hopefully there will be another Daryl in the world so I can wash that away, too.

After my shower, I look into the steamed mirror, wiping away the condensation to see myself, and the difference is startling. No more am I a homeless vagabond, but instead, a pretty girl with nothing to hide. Looks, I think, what a fucked up concept. It's not who you are, but what you do that makes you who you are. This world enforces that notion more than anything else. Walkers don't care about what you look like, and the mercenary pointing a gun to your pretty head will blow away those looks, turning you into a gory mess.

Daryl is outside in his living room making some noise, and I take it as my cue to change into my jeans and plain white t-shirt. I had left my army green jacket in the living room. I take one instinctive last look into the mirror before exiting.. A safe place, I thought, is in a clean bathroom.

"Hey," I greet, entering the living room. "Thanks again."

Daryl nods, focuses his attention on the thing in front him. "This fucking thing," he mutters before trying again to flip it back open. It's a gold lighter and he seems to be trying to do tricks with it. My eyes begin to wander around his home, and I find that it's very barren and clean.

"Do you have any cigarettes?" I ask.

He nods, looking at me blankly, like he seems to like to do, as if I'm speaking in a foreign language. Which, hell, I will if he keeps looking at me like that, just to confuse him more. He gives me one and we both share silence.

He speaks up eventually, like I expected, and his voice is low and soft. "So," he begins. "What's your name?"

"It's Asad."

Daryl looks confused, like usual, and decides not to question it. I can see the words written across his face. Is it my real name? "It's not my real name," I answer his internal monologue. "I've forgotten my real name, and it doesn't matter considering the state of the world now."

He relaxes a bit more into the couch. "It's interesting," Daryl comments before flicking ash from his cigarette. "What about a group?"

An uncomfortable feeling washed over me. Daryl invited me into his home to shower, and to ask these questions, I felt like he had an angle. But, maybe he's just being cautious. I am cautious too, sometimes, but being thought badly of by this man rubbed me the wrong way. Seems like a lot of stuff is rubbing me the wrong way lately, and it all involves people.

"No," I answer. "I've always been alone."

Daryl looks surprised at this. "What about before? Like, a family or friends."

He's really prying into me now, with a fucking crowbar. Defense feels like the only option left. "Do you always interrogate people like this?"

The biker looks away like he didn't even notice he was doing anything. "Sorry," he apologizes a moment later. "It's hard," he starts, but I gently cut him off, leaning in.

"Don't. I get it."

He nods. That's all he does.

Before leaving Daryl's house, we made plans to meet up the day after, he promised me a tour of Alexandria. What I didn't know at the time was his tour would never happen because that night he left to search for someone. Maybe that grey-haired woman I saw?

I woke up in the chow hall, having opted to just pass out in my own arms, near the back, in the corner, with a blanket I'd found. It's surprisingly busy in the hall today, and I begin to take in all the excitement. Their leader, a former state trooper, is walking about, doing something. The only thing I'm even willing to do is watch him from afar, like one of my rifle's targets. He screams magnetism and charisma. Too much of it, I feel.

"Abraham," I greet.

The tall, denim giant looks me up and down with an incredulous look. "You slept in here last night?" He begins laughing at me, but stops soon after, like a hyena that suddenly caught canines to the jugular. "I gotta go, kid," he alerts me before meeting up with their leader. "Don't die out there!"

I spent some time meandering about Alexandria until I stumbled on the clinic, and my eyes widened in excitement. There were drugs in there and I needed them. The sudden urge to find something to kill the emotional pain overwhelmed me, and I let my feet carry me to the doors of the small unassuming white building.

"Hello..?" I call out lowly. "Is the doctor in?" There's no sign of anyone so I let myself In like I owned the place. My wide eyes scan the walls, counters, and tabletops for something I can pop. I make it to the back of the room, where there's another little room attached to it, and find all the bottles of medicine sitting behind a glass cabinet ready for me.

"Can I help you?" A young man's voice pierces my thoughts like a steel arrow. He's watching me stand dumbly, staring at the medicine cabinet like it's the Mona Lisa. He moves to stand in front of me.

"Lady?!" He says now more forcefully at me, his eyes widen.

My awe is broken by his bickering to which I respond with another one of those genuine smiles. This time, though, the smile is at the thought of getting opiates or benzodiezpines in my system. I can already feel the warm rush of relief in my system.

"Hi," I greet, the smile still on my face. I turn around to rest on the gurney set up near the bay windows in the corner of the room. "I was wondering if you could help me," those words fall from my mouth so casually, I almost fooled myself. "There's this wound I've had for weeks now that hasn't healed yet. Here, if you can see it," I say, lifting up my jean's pant leg to the knee.

The young man is cautious as he peeks over at me. His face turns to disgust and horror as he sees what I've done to myself. "I know the stitching isn't done very well, but I had to use what I had at the time," I explain.

"What happened?" The boy asks as he gathers up the necessary supplies from around the room. I watch him like a hawk, making mental notes of where everything is, and he returns to me, now in a mode I can only describe as mechanical. "It's not too bad of a stitching job," he notes, prying at the wound. "This might hurt," he says.

"It's okay," I answer his worries.

The pain is pretty intense, but it's only a small, albeit deep, wound I received while going toe to toe with those assholes. Negan's army had supply caches placed in different locations, and it was only a matter of tracking them. One night, all was quiet, and I was in the forest alone. His men were being extremely loud earlier, most likely drunk, but now their voices all but stopped, leaving me to follow whatever direction I thought they were in.

At the time, I didn't think I was fucked, but I was indeed fucked from the beginning of that whole excursion.

I carried on through the forest, trying to be quiet, but desperation was settling in my heart. Minutes passed and those drunken idiots were silent. I stopped every minute or so to listen to whatever was out there. "Shit," I whispered to myself out of frustration. I'm cold, hungry, and desperate for something to eat, but this desperation will soon turn into anger.

"Heyyyy!"

"Yeah!?"

"There's some walkers over here, come on!"

Their drunken hollering returned, somewhere ahead of me, and it took a lot to stay focused on the target. The sounds of hacking and slashing, walker groans, and rotten tendons breaking filled the air, hitting my ears like a sweet symphony.

"Is that it?!"

"Y-yeah, I think so," one of them answers.

It must be paradise for people like this, I thought.

"Come on, let's get back, we'll leave in the morning."

I followed them from afar until we reached the small encampment deep in the woods. The only inkling that anything was there, out in the middle of nowhere, was a simple maintained dirt road winding it's way to the place.

What I didn't expect were the two guys to freak out on me, looking for their friends. They were nowhere. Even for me, that was frightening. There are monsters in this world. It's not bedtime stories anymore. The two guys called for their friends into the woods, but no one answered except for the calls of about a dozen walkers somewhere in the dark.

The walker's horrific wails echoed all around me. Reaching for my knife, I scanned the tree line for any sign of movement, but it was too dark to make out anything.

Negan's two lonely soldiers stood with their guns drawn. They were talking, but I was too far away to hear them. I only thought of the supplies in the tent they were standing by. If only I could get to it, but this shit with the walkers was a distraction. There was no way I could get to my target safely without being seen and shot by those guards or running into a dead one.

I was about to give up and follow alongside the dirt road until the walkers finally revealed themselves. About twenty ambled along the road, from the forest, almost every direction. The two men, and more importantly, me are surrounded in the intense dark of the night by walkers.

For one second, time had stopped. Everything seemed to be in slow motion like an action movie or a video game. My eyes watered with fear and anger. I ran towards the men with all my might, and they opened fire on me and the walkers behind me. The familiar sound of bullets whizzing by my ears brought me back to reality. The walkers were faster than the ones I usually ran into. The campfire outlined the men, now only black silhouettes with machine guns, and they fired at the walkers.

A hail of gun fire fell like rain upon the tree line. I stayed behind a large oak tree for safety, but I was sincerely fucked either way I went. Walkers were behind me, and two idiot's with guns were in front of me. Running into gunfire seemed like a bad thing to do, but I kept running forward, making my way closer and closer to the camp using trees as coverage. I could hear the walkers closing in behind me as I made one last lunge to the open space of the camp.

A bullet found it's way through the fleshy part of my leg causing me to fall mid-stride. I had hit the dirt hard, smashing my face into the tree roots below me. Hope found it's way into my extremities because I started crawling, one hand on the bullet wound, the other pulling me towards the camp as bullets flew overhead. The walkers were dangerously close now, and anytime now those bastards were going to run out of ammunition.

I left a blood trail behind me as I crawled with every fiber in my being to the open clearing. The gun fire stopped, and when I looked up, the two men were running after me with their knives out. They knew who I was, the girl, the sniper, who has been interrupting their supply runs. With one hand I pulled out a handgun and fired without aiming. My eyes stung with sweat, my leg in numb pain, and my body nearing complete shutdown.

"Fuck you!" I yelled at them as I fired from my place on the ground. One of them hit the ground hard after being struck, but the other jumped right on top of me. Both my hands went up in self-defense, using leverage, I flipped us over. I was now on top of him. Everything was so blurry at the time. There were too many of my senses being attacked at once. Somehow, through blind luck, my blind shooting killed the guy beneath me.

Drenched in blood, I heaved in gulping breaths as I used all my strength to stand, and hobble fast towards their camp. The walkers were mere feet from me, biting at my boot heels like animals. There, in that forest, I saw death, closer than ever before. Between my own yelling and the shocking pain, I didn't see an approaching truck, slowly traveling down the winding dirt road. Gun shots rang through the air, and at first, I thought they were shooting at me. However I heard the walkers fall to the ground behind me, and I made my escape into the trees, leaving all of that behind me.

I traveled far enough from that place to assess the damage to my leg. The bullet had gone straight through and using supplies from my own medical kit, I stitched it up and took the last of my antibiotics.

"So, what happened?" The guy stitching my wound asks again. He's already finished half of the task, and looks up to me with curiosity in his eyes.

"Oh," I say, surprised he still wanted to know. "Some bandits shot at me. So, I ran," I explain. "I thought I was going to die."

He looks pensive as he threads the needle through my skin. "Hm," is all he says, and I ignore him. I was ready to steal whatever he had hiding in that medicine cabinet. He goes to wash his hands and tools in the back, and I make my way over to the cabinet. I have to be quick, I think. I slowly, carefully open the cabinet to the sound of him washing his medical instruments. From what I had noticed earlier, in the beginning of all this, there were bottles of opiates in the far right side.

I slowly grabbed two bottles and put them in my jacket pocket. I'm gone before he even notices.

Back at the chow hall, their leader, Rick, seems to be giving some sort of talk to his advisors. I watch them all so I can study their faces. They're all very beautiful, I can practically feel their light from where I'm standing, but to be truly honest with myself, I have to say they're better than me. I'm not their kind of people. Maybe I can find that sign from God I was originally looking for here, but when I get like this, I remember that I need something darker. For whatever reason, I crave depravity and death. It's how I was before this world and it's how I am now.

This is no place for someone like me. I look behind my shoulder before leaving. "They're all so beautiful," I think. "I can't stay."

 _I wasn't completely happy with this chapter because I felt she could have interacted more with the Alexandria crew. However Rick and the gang have bigger things going on, and she felt like she didn't belong there anyways. Her and Abe would probably get along, but I made Daryl offer her the shower because she will be seeing him later._

 _Anyways, thanks for reading. I know it's kind of shitty. Also, Asad Ahabi is short for Elasad Edahabi which means, "Golden Lion."_


	3. Chapter Three: I Missed Ya

_Chapter Three: I Missed Ya_

I miss music. All the songs I listened to when I felt like I couldn't take it anymore were all available at the tap of a screen. Times like these, when I'm huddled up in some vacant building, is when I really crave music. I'm drifting in and out of consciousness due to the pills I took earlier. I wonder when he will notice they're gone, and what he'll do if he realizes it was me. The thought makes me snicker.

They didn't need them that bad.

I close my eyes and open them, in an instant, it's morning. The cold pierces through my sleeping bag like lightning shooting through my body. It makes me not want to wake up, but I gather the strength, crawl out of my warm place, and stand up to face the sun's shining light.

It's another day, another few miles, and more searching. I've stumbled upon some food here and there, but oddly, I've not run into any of Negan's men in the last week.

Negan will show his face soon enough.

Around noon I take a break alongside the road. I'm drinking from my canteen when I see a cat come up to me. The thing looks kind of healthy, however, it has patchy fur. I used to love cats, I think, watching the animal walk around me. "Come here," I coo, holding my hand out for it to sniff. "Come on, little guy."

It's rubbing up against my hand, and I feel something in my chest soften. It brings me back to the times I woke up to my own pet sleeping by me or waking me up early to feed him. It's a good feeling.

I give the cat some food to eat, just some old bits of jerky, and silently watch him. I connect with the animal more than I have with anyone person before. Animals are easier to understand. They always have a reason for the things they do. The food chain is sound and reasonable. There are no feelings in the animal kingdom.

The cat follows me as I walk aimlessly down the empty country road. Leafless trees lined either side of us like dead skeletons. A clear, bright blue sky slowly turned into a beautiful display of violet and orange. I made my way to a hill, in a clearing, high above the rest of the world, I began to watch the huge setting sun. It's radiant colors were spectacular, like nothing I've ever seen. The pale golden light made everything look like a painting.

I try hard to remember this scene. My eyes begin to water from the cold and I blink hard. The cat seems cold, too, I think. So, I take off my head scarf and wrap the warm cloth around the animal, tying it around her neck. She seems to take to it and lays in my lap, and we sit together, in this wheat field, watching the Earth glow for us.

Night falls soon and I continue walking. This time, I take a path less traveled, and wind my way down a dirt pathway. The cat is still following in my footsteps. I hear her little feet hitting the hard mud after me. There's still some sunlight, and I begin to wonder just where this pathway leads to. Usually these dirt paths lead to a farmhouse or another county road.

Further, further into the black forest I walk. The light is gone now. Up ahead, though, I hear a commotion and a sense of foreboding impales my chest like an ancient spear. There's bright lights and desperate yelling just ahead, over the muddy ridge.

I get down low and crawl to look down on a scene that shocks me. Those people, the beautiful ones, all on their knees. And, THEM.

I feel a heat rise up in my chest as I ready my rifle, and begin to scan the area. There's too many of them, I think. Why are there so many?

They Alexandria people are upset. Crying. What have they done to deserve this?

Then, like some sort of hero, a man steps from the RV in front of them. I get a good look at him in my scope and my heart skips a beat. "It's him," I whisper. He's all lanky charisma and devilish smiles. His words are harsh, and I have no doubt about what he's about to do to those people.

He's in my scope, but there's too many tree limbs in the way to line it up. I could get closer, but at what risk? I begin to question my involvement in this whole thing. Another part of me pulls at my curiosity and excitement.

He's talking, loudly, his voice echoes into the trees. I look at the cat that has curled up at my side.

"Get outta here, girl," I warn. "You're not gonna like this." Her wide eyes just stare at me. I shake my head, and look into my scope once more. Negan is giving a speech. I think back to the stories of Helen of Troy and Odysseus. It's theater. He's scaring them, and by the looks on their faces, he's succeeded in doing so.

His bat cracks down on denim giant's skull. Abraham. It's difficult to watch, even for me. I cringe. But, I realize something. What must it feel like to be his friends, there, on their knees, watching him getting beaten to nothing but a rotten tomato?

"Daryl," I say, as I watch him lose his cool. He's throwing punches at the leader now. His anger must have been too much, I think. They throw him in the back of some sort of animal control truck.

Then, another Alexandrian gets his head beat in.

It's not easy to watch a second time either.

My emotions get the best of me. I slide down the embankment, rifle in hand, and approach Negan.

He turns his head towards me. A hint of surprise crosses his face before it quickly changes to that perfect devilish smile.

"Well," he says lowly, using all of his theatrics. "You must be that bitch who's been stealing all of my shit." He throws his hands out wide, laughing, and just keeps smiling. "Now, would you look at THIS? Two birds with one stone."

I watch him, silently, carefully. He's dangerous, I think. He must have lost it when the world went to shit. Now, a cult of worshipers surround him. A big man in a small world. He's dark, dirty, and violent.

"WELL?" He motions. Every eye on me and him at the moment.

I lay my rifle down, along with my backpack and handgun. I then hold my hands up.

"What. The. Fuck?!" He laughs harder now, but this time, he walks towards me.

He's close to me. It's hard not to slightly tremble with his suffocating presence so near.

"Did the cat get your tongue?" He asks, threading his gloved and bloodied hand into my hair, getting a big handful of it, and then forcefully tugging down. I'm at an angle to where the only thing I'm seeing is his face.

His eyes search mine, but I'm distant, I'm not there. He won't find anything there.

A moment of silence passes and he shoves me in the direction of his guards.

"Take her. Put her in there with dumbass." He orders before turning his attention back to the sobbing Alexandrians.

I'm roughly thrown into the back of the truck with Daryl, who is crying uncontrollably, beating his fists against the steel door.

"Daryl?" I question, my voice hoarse. "Daryl, stop."

He collapses in a heap of sweaty exhaustion, his back against the side of the truck. "Who.. Who did he kill?" He asks me.

My blue eyes lower. My heart beats hard in my chest. This man before me, reduced to nothing but a quivering child, worried about his dead friend. I don't have the heart to tell him.

"Tell me!" He yells in desperation. I'm still quiet.

We sit in silence, listening to the voices outside, until we're taken somewhere unknown.

I can tell it's light outside now, the blue hue of the early morning sun shines through the cracks of the truck's doors. Daryl hasn't said a word to me. He hasn't even moved an inch. My heart truly aches for him, and I try to not let it get to me.

"We're here," I hear a voice say. "Come on. Let's get these two to a cell."

We're forced to walk through the winding halls of some sort of weird compound. It looks bleaker and greyer compared to Alexandria. I'm studying the outlying buildings and walkways for future reference.

We're taken to another small building just off of the large factory. Then we're put in separate rooms. I hear the lock click as I sit in the dark.

"What have I done to myself?" I ask. My mind is blank. There is no answer. "Maybe this is an interesting way to commit suicide."

I wasn't sure how long I'd been in this dark room before someone opened the door. It was a man, half of his face burned, no doubt done by Negan, and he looks angry at me. He's so ugly, I think. His presence is suffocating, too, like his boss'.

"Now, now," the man says in a baby voice, obviously being condescending towards me. My mind went into overdrive in anticipation of his actions. I remain where I am on the floor, in the corner, and stare blankly at the monster in the doorway. "Come here. I'm not going to hurt you like I did the other one."

He's giving me an in. For whatever reason. The other one? He's talking about Daryl. My heart gets that sour aching feeling again. It takes everything in me to swallow the lump in my throat and stand.

I stare at him blankly. He's so weak looking, I think. He's angry on the inside. Depressed. He's wrong.

My arms slightly sway at my side. All of my nerve endings, all of my senses, and my instincts are ready for whatever he's bringing.

"Come on," he says sweetly.

Carefully, slowly, I walk towards him. He holds the door open for me, letting me stand in the hallway.

"Alright," he says. "Come on."

I follow him down the barren halls towards what looks like a bedroom. I can see Negan sitting inside with his legs crossed, hand in a pyramid shape in front of him, like he's thinking. He catches my eyes and flashes a grin at me. His demeanor changes completely.

"Dwight! Sniper Girl!" He greets. The tall, lanky boss acts like he's excited to see me. However I know it's just his way of getting things. I should be worried if he's acting nice. "Let me look at you," he says, approaching me, getting into my personal space. "You know what? I think you'd look really nice if you took a shower. What do you think Dwight?"

Dwight is silent. He's looking me up and down. I'm all fire and lightning. "Yeah, but, does she want a shower?"

Negan's eyes widen. "You're right. I didn't think about what Sniper Girl wants. I apologize, Sniper Girl. Do you want to take a shower and clean all that shit off of you?" I'm silent. He's still dangerously close to me.

It happens in an instant. A hidden knife is in my hand, to Negan's throat. Although I'm five-foot-ten, Negan bends down slightly to accommodate the sharp knife at his throat. Dwight jumps back, and pulls his handgun out, points it at my head. It feels like minutes before anyone speaks. The heaviness in the room is palpable. I could feel the weight of their emotions suffocating my own lungs. I know what I'm doing, but will it get me killed?

"That's twice I've had the chance to kill you," I whisper into his ear. I'm sure he can feel my hot breath on his rough cheek, gently feel my lips on his earlobe. "You should be more careful."

I release him and the knife in one motion. Negan is unreadable. I'm not sure if he's mad or impressed. Probably both. His ego, I'm sure, has taken a bruise or two.

"Who THE FUCK are you?" Negan asks. His tone tells me he's genuinely curious, but he's also furious.

Dwight puts the gun to my head, I let him, he's too easy of a target. I won't embarrass him in front of his boss. Again. "Let's just kill her. She's too much trouble."

Negan furrows his brows. "NO."

Dwight looks confused, and turns away from me. Another opening, I think, but keep myself in check.

"What?" The scarred-man questions. Before he can register what's happening, Negan shoves his second-in-command into a bookcase. The impact causes the thing to fall over, books, knick-knacks flying in every direction, clattering on the floor in a mess.

"This is your fault," Negan scolds. His words cut through the heaviness of the room. Negan's mad, I can tell, but he's not letting all of it go. He's controlling his emotions, albeit, not very well. "Sniper Girl has nothing to do with THIS. Who the fuck patted her down? And how the fuck did she come out of the goddamn woods last night like some shitty ghost out of a bad movie? No, Dwight, she's not the trouble."

Negan grabs two handfuls of Dwight's shirt, throwing him once more, into the nearby table.

Dwight has resignation of his face. He's seen this before. It's not my fault he fucked up.

"You're the one giving me trouble," he accuses. Dwight only stares at him. "That's why I did that to your face. Now get the fuck out of my goddamn sight."

He begins to leave, but he pauses to stare me down. I can't stop myself. My hand goes up to my throat, giving him the recognizable motion of a knife going across his throat. I bite my bottom lip as I do so, sucking in air, and exhaling as I finish.

Dwight looks away.

"Go, Dwight. I'll handle Sniper Girl."

He leaves.

"Shut the door," Negan orders lowly. His attention turns to me as soon as the door shuts. "Take off your jacket."

I do as he says, watching him the entire time I'm doing so, and hand out the cargo jacket for him. He takes it, his touch very light, and he searches through it. "Hidden pockets," he mutters, and laughs lowly. "Oh, what is this?" He rummages through It some more. "Oxycodone?"

Yeah. I went through so much to steal those, and now this guy's gonna take them from me. I would be lying to myself if I didn't express some sort of anger. He can do anything to me, but my drugs, that's different. Although, I should have thought of that before I went in here and put on a display.

Negan seems to have caught me thinking.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says loudly. His voice scares me, and I shake slightly at the sudden intrusion of my thoughts. "I'll keep them for you. Say, when Dwight thinks you're ready to get out of that cell, I'll give them back to you."

Anger wells up in me. I ball my hands into fists at my side. "What about when you decide I'm ready?"

Negan smirks. "Oh, you don't want to stay in that cell? What? Was that little show you put on supposed to prove me otherwise?" He laughs at me.

"And, Dwight, he's gonna keep me in there forever. I'll go soft."

Negan sits down on the bed, sighing heavily, my jacket still in his hand. "Well, Sniper Girl, you're right, you know that?"

"I know," I reason, facing towards him.

"You don't know shit," he informs me very quickly. "Now, I'll think about it, but that's all I can tell you."

I cross my arms over my chest in defiance. Being at the mercy of Dwight rubbed me the wrong way.

"You'll need me. Your soldiers are pussies."

Negan cocks his head to the side, looks deep in my eyes. "You have beautiful eyes, you know that? They're like rhinestones."

"T-thank you.." I say, in utter shock. He stands, closing the gap between us, and pushes my hair away from my face. I'm too unsure to say anything. He's not really doing anything besides running his hands through my greasy hair.

"What.." I begin, "What are you doing?"

Negan smiles at me. That cheesy, fake smile he does when he has something good to say.

"I'm just playing with ya," he laughs, before going towards the door, and opening it. "Get Sniper Girl back to her cage," he orders a passing soldier.

The guard grabs me by the arm, practically dragging me out of the room. I look at Negan, his eyes boring into me, and I want to say something however I can't think of anything that will change what's happening.

He said he'd think about it. That's all I'll get out of him for now.

"I'll miss ya," he says as I pass.

I want to ask him if he's being sincere.

 _RIP_

 _I want to make the next chapters pretty disturbing and dark. Just a warning before I_

 _jump into it. I've been listening to a lot of Sidewalks and Skeletons lately._


	4. Chapter Four: Jesus Christ Looks Like Me

_Chapter Four: Jesus Christ Looks Like Me_

Easy street.

This isn't Easy street. This is hell street. Dwight, that asshole, is blaring this one song on repeat to break Daryl down. The thing is, it's loud as fuck, and I can hear it from across the hall. I try to look under the door, to figure out what's going on. All I see is the empty hall, and the lower part of Daryl's cell door. It's just a wooden door, and I'm pretty sure these are utility closets, but for us, they are jail cells.

"Daryl?!" I yell, unsure if he can hear me over the blaring music. There's no answer.

I sit back in my corner with nothing to occupy my mind. Anger, hatred, sadness, all these emotions fill me up, run around in my head. I get the urge to kill something, someone or break something with my hands. This boredom, that song, and my own demons are destroying me.

I can only imagine how Daryl feels. He's the one getting the Easy street treatment. His friend, the Alexandrian, dead because of his emotional outburst.

It's sad.

The blaring of Easy street stops, and I hear talking from across the hall. I scamper to look under the door. It's not Dwight, just some piss ant.

After he leaves, I don't hear the lock click to Daryl's door. I know he notices it, too.

Quietly, he opens the door.

"Daryl," I whisper to him. His bare feet come towards my door.

"Asad?"

"Hey," I answer, glee and excitement running through my already frayed nerves. "Let me out," I say. I get up and jiggle the door handle. "It's fucking locked. Do you know how to get this shit open?"

Daryl's quiet again. I can hear him breathing outside the door. I feel his presence.

I sigh. "You know they did that on purpose? It was left unlock to see if you'd escape."

A pause.

"I'll come back for you," he whispers before sneaking down the hallway.

He's going to get caught, I think. If I could just get out and help him. Daryl. I know how he feels. He's stubborn as an ox. The man won't let the blame of his friend's death go.

I won't try to stop him.

Back in the corner, staring at the underside of my door, I watch as Daryl's dragged back to the closet. He's being yelled at by Dwight, like Daryl is a stray, rabid dog.

Easy street comes back, louder this time, and I can faintly hear Daryl's sobs over the music.

My heart drops into my stomach at this point. It's too much for me to handle. These people truly are trying to break us psychologically and physically. We are prisoners. What is going to happen to me? I'm willing to serve this Negan. I'm willing to serve until it no longer fits my own idea of where I want to be.

Another day goes by.

Dwight's boots darken my door. We haven't spoken since his fuck up. To say I'm worried is an understatement.

"Hey, hey," he greets, a smile on his face. "Negan wants you," he says.

I stand up, watching him.

"But, you know, I think I want to hear a "please" out of you. We've been so nice to you."

My stomach turns. "Please," I say curtly.

"I think you need to do a little better than that. I want you to beg me."

"Beg you?" I question. He nods slowly. These sick games are giving me a goddamn headache. Do I really have to play just to get a position in Negan's army? If so... then, I guess I will.

I walk up to him, he doesn't move a muscle, leaning in the doorway. I drop to my knees in front of him, my face eye level with his waist. I reach and grab his shirt then look up at him with a pleading look on my face.

"Please, pretty please, may I see Negan?" I say, a weak tone in my voice. I'm begging to see the devil. Dwight responds by putting his hand on my head.

"Please. I beg you."

"Wow," he sighs. "Get off me." He shoves me away from him. "Come on, then," he mutters.

This time we're in some warehoue, near the bay door, and Negan is facing away from us, staring out into the empty parking lot.

"Just who I wanted to see," he greets, still looking out the large door. "Now, if I remember correctly, you raided about a dozen of my supply runs and around five of my supply caches. I think THAT deserves some retribution, don't you think, Sniper Girl?"

My blood freezes, my heart stops. These games, I think. Here's the chess master.

"Lucille here likes revenge!"

His bat, the atrocity that killed those two Alexandrians, covered in barbed wire and stained in blood. He seems to have some sort of sick fascination with the thing. Has anyone dared to ask him about it? They just let him go along in his own world, don't they?

"Answer," Dwight demands, shoving me.

I sink back into reality.

"What do you want?" I ask.

Negan smiles, lifting his bat up to me. "Kneel," he demands.

I do as he says.

Negan towers above me. Lucille in his hands. He raises the weapon to my face, touching my cheek with it. "What's your name?"

"I don't have one," I answer.

He chuckles. "That's GREAT! But, it's the WRONG ANSWER."

He swings Lucille at me, not too hard, but just enough to knock me over. Blood drips from my face, down on the cold cement. I growl in pain. This hurts. My nose is numb, my mouth is stinging, and I can barely see.

"Get. Up!"

Dwight drags me upward, back onto my knees once more.

"You're name, from now on, is NEGAN."

His ego is huge.

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," I mutter.

He puts Lucille on my shoulder. "Now, lets try this again. What's your name?"

"Negan," I answer quickly. I can't think with my face like this. He had to hit me once. He had to. Is that what he tells himself? I wonder. He leads with his dick. He's dominant. Aggressive. But, who is he really?

"Good," he says. "Sorry about your face. You know how it is," he rubs it in.

"I do know how it is." Negan raises an eyebrow. "Now let me go. Tell Dwight to fuck off and give me my weapon. I'm yours. Just tell me who to aim at."

Negan shrugs, Lucille in his hand, his demeanor now completely relaxed.

"Well, Sniper Girl, I have to say," he begins. "You're special. I don't know where the fuck you came from, but I want to see you in action with my own eyes. I want to see what you're capable of."

Dwight scoffs. "She's capable of shit. She's not loyal," Dwight explains, his gaze becoming hard and undying.

"Bingo," Negan says, pointing with Lucille at his friend. "That's it. Are you loyal? I don't think you are. You know whatI think? I think Dwight can't break you. I think I have to. To be honest, I don't want to lose you, Sniper Girl. You're an asset to me."

I nod.

"Take her to my room. Tie her up, chain her up, whatever you have to do," he orders Dwight. "You'll be with me," he says, getting close to my face.

Dwight takes the black bag from off of my head, and Negan's room smacks me in the face, much like Lucille did earlier. There are classic paintings everywhere, along with majestic deep red drapery along the bay windows, and his bed, a large marble masterpiece. There are books in shelves along one wall, and records in boxes near a radio.

It's gaudy, but it says a lot about him

Dwight, without a word, handcuffs me with my arms behind my back. Then he ties me to one of the support beams in the middle of the room.

"You must have caught his eye," Dwight finally says, all of his usual attitude missing from his voice.

"Is that why I'm here?"

Dwight doesn't answer. He leaves the room, leaves me, to be at the mercy of Negan. I'm not sure who is worse. The scarred man has a hint of humanity in him, I can see it, and I know he has to repress it. I'm not too sure about Negan. He goes about his goals in a strange way.

The sun dips down below the horizon, and I'm sitting in this dark room for hours before I hear anyone. It's him. He's whistling, and strolling along, as evident by his lazy boot falls.

He walks in like a Cheshire cat, flipping on a switch, which in turn makes the lamps in the room power on. His face spells mock surprise when he sees me.

"Sniper Girl! I almost forgot you were in here. Did Dwight just leave you in the dark?" He's chuckling as he saunters up to me, Lucille at his side.

"Bullshit, Negan, you were looking forward to this," I say darkly. I make a point to rattle my handcuffs and pull at the bindings.

"You're right," he says, a smile on his face. "You're almost always right, Sniper Girl. Now, I'm just going to let you sit there for awhile longer."

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Now, don't get that look," he coos, kneeling down to pat a hand on my cheek. "I have something I need to do before we get to play. Don't go anywhere."

He gets something from his desk, and like that, he's gone. At least the lights are on this time. Another hour passes, and there is still no sign of the man. My face still aches from Lucille. The handcuffs are digging into my skin, and my lower back stings from sitting so long on my ass.

These games are beginning to frustrate me.

Negan reappears later with a nasty look on his face. He's silent as he enters his bedroom, and doesn't cast a glance my way as he passes by. I choose not to watch him as he rummages through his desk once more.

I like to see people like this. When they're mad, upset, and their aura pulsates and surrounds me. It's like I get some sort of kick out of it. Negan, in this state, is being more himself than the act he puts on for everyone else.

I've seen it twice now. Once when he was angry at Dwight, and now, here in this room.

"You know, Sniper Girl," he drawls, his tone now more heavy and angry. "I don't like it when people cross me, you know? It.. Rubs me the wrong way."

I'm silent.

"Are. You. Listening?" He asks me from across the room.

I shift a little to get a look at him, my eyes low, and my gaze enticing. "I am," I answer.

"Good!" He exclaims, bending his knees a little. "Would you ever cross me?"

"I don't know you, Negan."

He furrows his brow. "You don't need to know me to understand that I will make your life so fucking miserable if you even think about trying anything."

I smirk.

"What happened?" I ask. "Out there."

The man across from me puts his hand to his forehead like he's exasperated. He sighs heavily. "You don't need to worry about that."

"I want to know if it's causing you so much emotional turmoil," I explain, unsure of how he'd feel about it.

He looks at me with an unreadable expression before smiling. "Aw, Sniper Girl," he chuckles. "I already have five wives to listen to me and care about my feelings. But, THANK YOU for the support."

"I wasn't asking out of affection."

Negan's smile drops. "I don't need you as a wife, as much as your strange hotness turns me on, I need you to fucking kill for me. Slaughter my enemies as you did my soldiers. THAT kind of shit."

"Will you get me out of these cuffs?" I ask.

Negan shuts the drawer of his desk.

"Of course," he smiles, walking towards me with a key in his hand. The relief of being free is a great feeling, and I let go of a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My face, I think, and touch the bruised and bloodied skin.

"Oh, Sniper Girl," Negan mews with affection. "I just wanted to get my point across."

His rough hands reach up to caress my cheek, and I find myself leaning into his gentle touch. He's so enigmatic it almost casts a spell on me. I imagine this is how his soldiers feel. For one reason or the other, one craves his good grace and attention. However people like Dwight might just do it out of necessity rather than whatever the hell this is.

"Does it hurt?" He asks, looking down at me with half-lidded eyes. "I want to know you're in pain."

"It does," I answer, still relishing in his touch. "It's painful."

I can see his mind working as we stand in this serene moment together. Whatever he's thinking, whatever he wants out of me, he won't express it in an obvious way.

He grabs my hand, leading me to his private bathroom, where he stands expectantly.

"You want me to.. Shower?"

He nods. "But first, let me take care of those bruises and your nose."

"My nose?" I question.

"Look in the mirror," he points.

Oh god. My fucking nose. It's broken. I didn't even notice. There's horrific bruising and discoloration along with a big bump forming on the bridge of my nose. It's so swollen and hard that it sends panic through my system. It makes my hands ball into fists and heat rise to my cheeks.

"I know what you're thinking," he says, his hands up in mock defense.

"You have no idea," I growl, walking towards him, ready to end his life.

"Look, you can either let me fix it or go back in the utility closet with Daryl."

His words stop me in my tracks.

"I knew you'd listen to reason," he chuckles, placing his arms around me and leading me to the counter.

I sit on the counter as he pulls out a first aid kit from the cupboard near the shower. He takes his jacket off to reveal a plain white t-shirt underneath it, surprisingly very clean and white. Is he letting his guard down? Why? There are a million questions floating through my mind as he begins to disinfect and clean my face from all of the dirt and blood.

He's very methodical. Like he knows what he's doing.

"You're ex-army, aren't you?" He asks out of the blue. My eyes search his for any sort of trickery, but I can't find anything. "I'll take that as a yes," he says.

"How did you know?" I ask.

Negan shrugs like it's no big deal. "It's hard to miss, but it's there, under all this shit you rolled around in." He lays the disinfectant and rag beside me, and feels my nose. "This might hurt."

I nod slightly. "Just fix what you did to me."

He chuckles. "Hell, I think it's an improvement."

The snapping of my bone isn't something new. I've heard that root tearing sound before, but it still hurts all the same. The pain, a white light in the darkness, and I feel my eyes flutter and my hands reach up to my face to cradle the fucking thing in my hands.

"You fucking, fuck, fuck," I curse, almost yelling. Tears come to my eyes and I let them fall down my cheeks, into my hands.

"Calm down," Negan orders in that voice he does when he's sick of something. "Let me see."

I stare daggers at him before letting my hands down to show off my new nose.

"It gives you character," he guffaws, obviously enjoying my torment.

"Get the fuck out of my face."

Negan laughs harder at me. "You don't have that much freedom," he tells me, "to talk to me like THAT."

"Sorry," I quickly apologize to avoid anymore fucking games.

"Hmmm..." He sighs. He enjoyed my pain, gets some sort of sick pleasure out of it. It's hard to humanize this man standing, again, dangerously close to me. He leans in, like he's going to kiss me, and I instinctively lean in, too. At the last second he pulls away and I take in a sharp breath.

He tuts at me, slowly moving his head side to side. "Oh, Sniper Girl," he mutters. "What are you doing to me?"

I'm frozen in my position, like an idiot, like a fool. What am I doing here? I never thought my actions would lead me here. I'm not good at these kinds of things. I never was, even before, I stumbled around social situations like an unwanted kid.

"M-my.." I begin, stuttering, unsure. Negan has full control of the situation, of me. "I-I'm sorry," I finally say, looking into his hazel eyes to find him staring right back at me.

"You should be," he warns, an unwavering look in his eye. "You really should shower. You smell."

I nod.

He leaves me alone in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. The slam of the door is the sound of the knife being driven into my heart. I'm letting him do this to me, I think, and part of me loves it. Part of me longs for his affection, his touch, and his embrace.

The shower water is hot, steaming, and fogs up the entire room. Warm water pours over my skin, on my face, wetting my hair. It's heaven. My face is still a broken mess and my eye is slowly swelling shut, cutting off part of my vision. I gingerly feel it, and pain strikes me down like lightning. It hurts so goddamn much.

I look around and see that there's shampoo and body wash. My heart flutters at the thought of such simple amenities.

After my shower I find that there's fresh clothes laid out for me on the counter. Negan must have put them there, and I was too wrapped up in my shower to notice him entering. It's a simple blue shirt and jeans, some clean socks.

I come out of the bathroom in my clean clothes, carrying my boots along with me. There's no sign of Negan, and I enter slowly, still extremely unsure of what I'm supposed to be doing. I sit on his bed and feel the soft sheets and comforter.

Seeing these things that I've gone so long without make me miss them now more than I ever have before.

I get up and look through his book collection. I'm just browsing, like I'm bored, when his voice cuts through the air.

"Enjoy your shower?" He asks. The darkness from earlier all but gone from his person.

I nod.

"Good! Now, I've had fun tonight, but I think you've overstayed your welcome."

"Of course, Negan," I answer him, a lovely and polite tone in my voice. "Whatever you want."

He raises his eyebrows at me, and then he flashes a big toothy smile. "Well, you start talking like that.." He trails off.

"You'll let me sleep in your bed?" I ask, an eyebrow quirked.

He mulls it over for a second before busting out laughing. "No, Sniper Girl. Now go."

Negan pulls me by my arm towards the door, my boots still in my hands, and hands me off to the guard waiting outside.

"I'll see you tomorrow. It's a BIG DAY!" He informs like a giddy child before closing the door behind him.

Back in the utility closet I begin to think of what had transpired in the last few hours. All of it feels like a dream, and a fucking nightmare at the same time. Daryl's still across the hall getting his Easy Street treatment. Negan's words cross my mind. Whatever big day he has planned will either be horrific or absolutely wonderful.

Whatever happens, I accept it. I'm the one who got myself into this fucking mess. I might as well try to enjoy it.

I try to close my eyes and sleep. Like Negan said, "it's a big day tomorrow."

* * *

 _Alexandria._


	5. Chapter Five: Gypsy

_Chapter Five: Gypsy_

Nightmares are always there, in my mind, clouding my vision during the day and tormenting me at night. I'm convinced there's something wrong with my brain. Whatever chemicals make a brain normal aren't in my own head.

Negan, I think, last night he.. He showed a little more of himself to me. I wonder if I'm the only one who has received that honor or have others flown to close to his light only to burn?

The dissociation state I find myself in this morning breaks me down to the point of being a numb shell of who I was last night. The energy to stand is stolen from me, the breath in my lungs fades in and out, and find it hard not to just tempt fate itself.

I do this sometimes. I wake up feeling like I'm not even real, not even a person or a living thing. It's easier to be like this during the apocalypse because it helps me survive. It's why I've stayed alone for so long. Responsibility, duty, and socializing all coming to a head and setting me up for failure was a repetitive cycle I found myself trapped in before the apocalypse.

Is that why I feel like this? Because of some sort of feeling of obligation towards these new people, to Negan? I'm not letting anyone know of my demons, these nightmares or my mental state, but I have a feeling Negan already knows what's wrong with me. He can read people. But, if I think like that, then he's already won.

He leaned in last night in the bathroom towards me like he was going to kiss me, and I, like a true fool, leaned in to receive his lips. He was testing me. In his mind, I wonder if I failed or passed. I gave him an in. If I had refused him? I'm not sure I'd still be here, sitting in this utility closet, but the fact is, I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted his touch and attention like I was a child with a scraped knee even though I know it's wrong. He smashed my face in, and then tries to fix the damage he's done. I wonder if it was guilt that made him help me last night or something else entirely. Maybe he knows I like the pain. He asked if what he did to me felt painful.

Did my answer get him off? What a fucked up thought.

I refuse to torment myself any longer. I can't trust myself when I feel like this. I never have been able to.

I'm sitting in the corner of the room when I see Dwight's boots stop in front of the door. My heart skips a beat when he begins unlocking it. He's just an outline of a blurry shadow when he opens the door. The sunlight from outside is brighter than I remember.

He stares at me for a few moments. I can tell he's holding back his words. Can he tell I've been crying since last night?

"What is it?" I ask. Anger, sadness, and all the things I've felt over the last few hours somehow manifesting in my voice.

"Get up."

I sit there. I close my eyes tight.

"Get. Up."

Inside, I find the strength in me to stand, lightheaded sensations threatening to make me fall back down. I can taste the old blood that's dripped from my broken nose on my lips. However the physical pain I feel doesn't register in my brain. It feels almost comforting to know I'm still alive.

Without a word, I follow Dwight, this time eyes uncovered, to Negan's room. It's on the top floor of the factory. Without a black bag over my head, I'm able to carefully observe the people of this place. They look normal, but lack the same heart the Alexandrian's have. There are people eating, cleaning, talking like before the Walkers. A lot of people are walking about, and I soon discover that breakfast has ended.

These people are going to their jobs assigned to them. This place gives them some sort of normalcy and family, but at the cost of their own freedom. It's what we paid for "safety" even before all this, and these people are just doing what they know.

I get a few stares as I follow Dwight. It makes me feel self-conscious about myself. In fact, I feel naked without my jacket, and I assume Negan still has it, along with my rifle, handgun, and knives.

And drugs.

When we reach Negan's room, Dwight knocks, and abruptly turns around to leave. His presence isn't needed. My plan is to get my things back, what I can, at least, from Negan. Hopefully, his mood is in the positive today.

"Come in," I hear his voice echo.

I take one deep breath in to calm myself before entering. He's at his desk, with a book open, staring intently at it. His finger is at his mouth like he's biting his nail, and his eyebrows are furrowed. I notice his jacket is draped around the back of the chair behind him, too.

"Negan," I address, standing by the door with my arms to my side. My mind is already sabotaging me into panic even more. My words hurt to say. "Did you need me for something?"

Negan seemingly ignores me in favor of reading whatever it is in his hands.

I walk up to him, unsure as I always am, and stand by his side. I peer over his shoulder to get a look at what has him so engrossed.

"Visions, Dreams, and Rumors?" I question. A smirk appears on my face at the realization Negan is reading Stevie Nick's autobiography. In fact, I would have burst out laughing if it were anyone else.

Negan side eyes me before shutting the book with one hand.

"Is that what you were looking for last night?" I ask. My smirk has now turned into a smile. I realize I'm treading dangerous water, but it's too late now for fear.

"Is it that surprising?" He asks me as he puts the book in the drawer of the desk.

My eyebrows raise in surprise. He's actually addressing the topic at hand instead of dodging the question using anger or mockery.

"No, not at all," I answer, taking a step back from him in case he decides anger is still an option. "I love Stevie Nicks. I miss her."

Negan eyes me up and down as if he's deciding something in his head. Whatever it is he's thinking about must have left his mind because he puts on his jacket before stepping around me to grab Lucille.

"We have a big day ahead of us, Sniper Girl," he says as he takes practice swings.

I lean against his desk, watching him, watching his face contort into anger every time he swings the bat into the air.

"Oh," he adds, stopping for a second, and walks to a nearby closet to grab something. "Close your eyes."

Instead of closing my eyes, I roll them at his behavior.

"If I turn around and your eyes aren't closed, Lucille's going to have a problem."

His words make me close them in an instant because he's not lying. My face can only take so much more before it collapses in on itself entirely.

A few seconds later he throws something at me, and I instinctively wrap my arms around it. My eyes open to take in my cargo jacket with all it's hidden pocket glory.

"What do we say?" Negan asks, sauntering up to me, Lucille still in his hand, lightly hitting his hip with every step he takes. "Huh?"

I'm still staring at the thing when I look up to see he's looking down at me with a stupid grin on his face. I desperately want to bring up the fact that it was mine in the first place, but I let that thought drift away when I remember who it is standing in front of me.

"Thank you."

When the words leave my lips, Negan leans down to get eye-level with me. My eyes looking at his lips and then back up to his unwavering stare. He's close to me again. The last two times he's done this things didn't go well. However this time, I stand stock still, staring back at him with bloodshot eyes.

"Have you been crying?" He asks. His question sends wave after wave of anxiety crashing into my chest. Instinctively, I turn away from him to hide my face, to hide any hint of how I really feel. He grabs my shoulder to stop me from turning away, and I remember just who is grabbing my shoulder when I think about running from the room.

"Yeah," I answer, turning back to look at him.

His grips tightens. "Why?"

The foremost emotion I feel is anger because he even dares to ask me that question. After what happened last night when he refused to answer my question.

"You're not my husband," I quip. Regret didn't even register in my rage-blinded mind. God, I even cross my arms and everything. "You were upset about your stupid book last night, and when I asked-"

"Let me stop you right there, Sniper Girl," he interrupts, hand still on my shoulder. "That isn't a stupid book. You know who took it? One of my wives took it. And you know what? I didn't argue with her like I want to with you," he stopped, throwing his hand in the air in defense. "I threw that bitch to the biters. I was mad because she took something from me. Something I cared about."

I watch him a moment before speaking. "You're right," I say. "That isn't a stupid book."

Negan's eyebrows raise before he busts out laughing. His reaction makes me smile, but I know at any second he could end my life for talking like that to him, of all people. His ego is his priority, and I can't be forgetting that so easily.

"Oh," he sighs, looking up at me with watery eyes.

"I'm sorry," I say, turning away from him to face the bay windows. "I cried because..it's hard to explain." Negan is silent behind me, and I worry Lucille will take me out then and there.

"Sometimes life is too much for me, and I cry, that's all."

A few more moments of silence pass, and with every silent second that passes I think that those could be my last words ever spoken. The need to apologize and leave the room overwhelms me, and I turn around to find him looking at me with a sorrowful look.

"Sometimes life is hard," he says out of nowhere. "It's how you deal with it that matters. And, to me, it sounds like you're not dealing with it very well."

Words escape me. He turns it around on me, and it sends even more anxiety through me. My eyes begin to water, my hands shake, and the strength to stand is gone from me. My knees buckle underneath me, and the tears now flow freely from me.

"I'm sorry, sometimes," I try to explain through sobs. "I can't help myself."

I don't know what Negan is doing in this moment, and I don't care. If he decides to kill me now then I welcome it with open arms. Something to end this pain. Someone to do it for me because I'm too weak to do it myself.

"Sniper Girl," I hear him softly say, making me look up at him. He drops Lucille on the ground, letting the stupid thing clatter to the ground at his feet, and squats down to look at me. He uses his hand to lift up my chin, looking at me with sadness in his eyes. "You're taking it out on yourself when you should be taking it out on other people."

"W-what?" I ask as I wipe away the tears from my eyes.

"Yeah! You see," he begins, standing up as he does to walk around the room. "Most people take their pain out on others to make themselves feel better. I KNOW you know this because you're not an idiot. But, with people like you, you're too nice to take it out on other people, so you let yourself get like.. like how you are now."

I begin to speak, but he stops me.

"I'm speaking," he warns with a dangerous look in his eye. "Now, today," he resumes talking normally. "I want you to try taking whatever pain is buried inside you out on other people. If your moral compass tells you that it's wrong, then PLEASE, ignore it. TRUST ME, it'll help you a lot more than drugs or trying to understand it. Will you do that for me?"

My options are clear. "Yes, Negan," I say. My tears begin to stop at the realization of how much danger I'm in with this man. The sadness overwhelmed me so badly that I couldn't stop a break down in front of him. "Yes, I will. I promise."

Negan smiles at me. "That's great to hear."

He walks towards me, and to my shock, holds out his hand for me to take, which I gingerly do.

"Don't let this get you down," he comments as he pulls me up. "It's only the beginning. Let me show you how it's done. All you gotta do is crack a few skulls!"

I chuckle at his words. I shouldn't have, but I did. He's ridiculous.

"Now," he murmurs as he wipes away the tears from my eyes, "don't let me see you like this again."

"Is that a threat?"

Negan smiles like he does. "It's always one step forward and two steps back with you, isn't it? Not even going to apologize for it this time, either."

"I'm sorry, Negan." I answer his warning.

He ignores my words completely, much like earlier, and takes a step closer. His hand strokes my wavy golden hair. His eyes are half-lidded and his mouth parted only slightly. Another second passes, and, as my mind freezes in it's own inner workings, he gets very close to me.

"Now, let me finish what I started last night," he whispers before leaning in and connecting his lips to mine. His unexpected kiss is gentle and soft. He's warm like a smoldering fire, and his beard scratches like a rough patch of leaves. My bruised and hurting face is still sore, and I try to ignore the pain in favor of the pleasant sensations he's sending through out my body.

Although I'm frozen in place, I try to kiss him back as best I can. The world outside seems so distant in this moment. My problems, my crying, all seem to vanish when he kisses me.

He ends it after a few moments, and looks down at me with what I can only describe as a twisted sense of adoration. My breath is stolen from me. My heart thumps in my chest. The only thing I can do is stare back at him.

Negan says nothing as turns around to pick up Lucille. Then he begins walking to the door as he waves it in the air. "COME ON, Gypsy Girl, we have pain to inflict!"

My smirk from before returns with a renewed sense of purpose. I'm not sure if he's right about what he said earlier, but I might as well try his way of doing things. It seems to be working out for him.

My last thoughts before leaving his room are of the Alexandrians. But, I steel myself against the pain I will feel for them. I have to, I tell myself. I have to.


	6. Chapter Six: She's Not There

_Chapter Six: She's Not There_

A beat-down red truck sped down the country highway, sputtering around curves, hitting every bump in the cracked cement. There are four other Saviors sitting in the bed of the truck with me who have been staring me down for the last five minutes. I hunch over with my forearms resting on my knees. One of the Saviors, a dark-skinned woman named Arat, is very obviously opposed to my going to Alexandria. Our eyes meet, and I try to convey through my expression that I'm not afraid.

I've met a leader who encourages the violence and macabre that I crave within my soul, and the possibilities are endless, limitless, even. The fact that I'm now a Savior means little to me. It's only a name, a title, and I don't accept it personally, however, for appearances I will answer to the name.

The truck takes an unsteady turn, and into a herd of biters. Rotten blood and guts go flying into orbit as the driver overcorrects and sends us into a nearby ditch. Arat, and myself are thrown from the bed of the truck.

I can hear my body rolling along the road, hear the tearing of my tanned flesh, and my eyes are impossible to open due to the force of being thrown. A few seconds later I come to a stop in the middle of the road. Nothing feels broken, besides my stinging lower back, which I attribute to road rash. I sit up to survey the damage, and find that there's a dozen or so walkers ambling towards the truck. The driver is slumped over in his seat with blood seeping from his head.

The three others begin firing at the walkers as I stand up on shaking legs. Before I can check on the driver, something grabs me from behind, and it's mouth comes dangerously close to biting a piece of my shoulder off. I shake the thing off of me, falling to the ground in the process, and look around for anything to kill this thing with. No one gave me a weapon, not Negan or Arat, and now I'm left with having to use a piece of driftwood to spike it through the head.

I scramble towards the medium length piece of wood and break it across my knee to create a sharp edge. The walker gets in close and I use all my strength to ram the pointed piece of wood into the monster's head. To my surprise, the fucking thing breaks off in it's head.

My shock is short-lived when the walker tries to bite me a second time. I put my arms on its shoulders, throwing it in a different direction from me. It's rotten corpse falls to the ground, and I jump on it to ram the broken piece of driftwood deeper into it's skull.

In the distance, I notice a white moving truck approach us. It's Negan's truck. We were going to scout ahead of the main caravan, but our driver fucked up by going too fast. Now, we're knee deep in Walkers, and I have no weapon.

"Hey!"

I look to see Arat, shotgun in hand, holding up a throwing axe. She tosses the weapon to me, and I let go of the walker for a second to catch the thing in mid-air. The wooden handle feels good in my hands, and it feels even better to sink the fun end of the compact axe into the walker's brain.

With the walker beneath me out of the way, I quickly turn to focus on any other walkers nearby. The small herd seems to be taken care of, but there are stragglers hanging about in the woods. Their bodies sway in the tree line, moaning for flesh, and for the death of their brothers.

The adrenaline starts to wear off and I begin to feel the pain from my road rash. I bend over, resting my hands on my knees, to try and catch my breath. Arat yells commands to the others, but her voice is muffled yelling due to the ringing in my ears.

The white truck comes to a stop near the truck crash, and behind that truck there are a few more that come to a slow halt. The entire caravan is at a stand still while Arat and the others do their best to clean up. The unconscious driver is taken out of the truck by a couple men as Negan watches in amusement. He's antagonizing the passed out driver, and making a spectacle out of the guy's monumental fuck up.

Negan turns his attention to me, and from afar I admire his lithe body. He's no doubt gorgeous. But, he's an asshole. The advice he gave me this morning, I've decided, is horrible advice. I refuse to follow it except for the purpose of making my loyalty seem believable. His kiss, despite being enjoyable, means very little to me. To me, it means he likes me more than I like him, and I can use that to my advantage.

"Gypsy Girl," he addresses a few feet away. His stride is long and efficient.

I hold up a gloved hand as I assure him I'm uninjured. "Negan, that fucker overcorrected when he hit a walker, and sent me and Arat flying out of the truck. And," I explain as I turn around, a sharp pain in my ankle gives way, and I stumble slightly.

"Jeeeee-eeeesus," Negan exclaims as he touches my back. I hiss in pain at his prodding. "You're going back to Sanctuary to get this taken care of."

"Negan," I protest. "I'm fine. It's just road rash. Compared to what you did to my face, this isn't bad." A smirk crosses my face in anticipation of his reaction. My inner voice is yelling at me to stop tempting him and to accept his offer to go back.

"Alright," he answers my protests with ease. His eyes looking me up and down as a sign of his doubt. I follow him back to the truck. I'm trying my best not to limp, but my ankle is stinging in intense pain. It takes a lot in me to ignore it. Alexandria is my chance to gather supplies, and I can't let someone else's mistake take this opportunity away from me.

Negan puts his arm around my waist, adding more weight on my ankle, and I bite my lip not to make any noise. His affectionate display only makes things worse for me with the other Saviors. I keep those feelings inside, though. I can't question his motives now. Even if they're unclear, they're solid and unbreakable.

"Arat, you didn't give my girl a gun?"

Arat surveys the dead bodies, and looks up to her leader. She eyes me before speaking. The grip on her shotgun seems to get tighter, and I look away from her for a moment as she speaks.

"I gave her an axe," she responds, shrugging.

Negan lowly chuckles, a slight smile across his face. He looks down at me, at my broken face, at my beaten body, and he shakes his head at my stubbornness.

"Come on, Sniper Girl."

Everything is overcast today. I look out the window admiring the hunter green trees, golden fields, and the harmony of mother Earth eases the pain I feel. It's a comforting thought. Something to distract me from me the hell I'm in.

"I get the feeling you don't wanna be here," Negan comments from my side.

My eyes snap to his. He looks uncertain as he looks at me.

"Do you want me to be here?"

"In the beginning, no. But, now.."

I remain quiet, continue my staring out the window, and I try to think of something to say to him that will make this alright. Whether I want to be with the Saviors or not, it doesn't matter now because there is no leaving them. The only way out is death. Negan is the one dealing the death sentences for deserters, so, why is he making me question it?

Alexandria's gates come into view, finally, and I feel an air of tension swallow me whole. I go through the mental grocery list I made. I needed drugs and a weapon. I also needed, well, wanted, some candy of some sort.

"Here it is!" Negan exclaims. I notice that all of the sadness I felt from him earlier melts away from him. He's excited to fuck with these guys, to break them, and scare them like a big bad wolf from a fairy tale. "Let's do this!"

The clouds fade away and the sun comes into view like some sort of divine sign from the heavens. The bright light from the new coming sun blinds me as I look around Alexandria for the second time, but it's through different eyes now. I snarl when the mental image of these people living free flashes in my mind. We're here to shatter their dream. Well, Negan is here to do it, and we're all Negan.

We're told to take half of everything, and I head straight to the mess hall for some food. It turns out I'm not the only one with a hungry stomach. There's a few other Saviors following me to the hall, but when we get there, the small group stops me from entering the pantry. "Get outta here, kid," I'm told as I stare in anger at them. "Go! You can eat at the factory."

I bite my tongue to stop from losing my temper like a mad bull. I get turned away from the kitchen like a bad child, but there has to be something to eat in someone's home. Everyone's homes are being raided. The Alexandrians watch in horror as their things are taken from them. No one does anything to stop this madness.

I practically jog to the next corner to grab some medicine, and find that there's only one other there. He's not really that interested in me. His eyes don't even leave the cabinet he's rummaging through as I grab two bottles of painkillers. I don't hesitate to pop one before shoving them into the inside pocket of my jacket. I can already fill the warm rush of relief passing through me as I relish in the feeling of having something to calm me down.

I leave the small medical building and follow the road a little, witnessing the Savor's anarchy, and come across Negan and Rick in a garage. I peek in a bit to see guns lining one side of the clean garage. There's another room in the back where I assume they keep all their weapons.

"An Armory?" I question as I stand on the sidewalk. Negan's expression goes from stern to ecstatic at the sight of me. His smile practically lights up the world for a brief moment.

"Gypsy Girl! I was wondering where you ran off to."

I smile meekly at him, and he waves for me to come to his side. Rick, a look of horror on his sweating face, doesn't even glance in my direction. It's frightening to be around the Alexandrians leader. I won't lie to myself. He's already broken -what Negan's doing is rubbing salt in the bitter wounds. It's necessary for what his goals are, but it's almost hard for me to watch.

"Gypsy Girl," Negan warns, cocking his head to one side.

"Y-yeah," I answer as I slowly go to his side. He wraps a long arm around my waist. He's warm, too warm for me. His touch is so light for someone of such intensity. I lean into his arm to show him I'm comfortable with his actions.

"This here," Negan says. "Is my GIRL! Say hello to Rick, Gypsy Girl."

"Hello, Rick." The politeness in my voice isn't missed by the man holding me.

"Don't be rude, Rick!"

Rick seems to wake up from whatever fugue state he's slipped into. I can tell he barely manages to say the word.

"H-hello," he croaks.

"That's better," Negan mutters. He turns his head to me, and gives me a deep kiss to remember. It's intoxicating, like pure honey. It's over in a few seconds. Afterwards he looks at me with a knowing look. It's an expression that tells me he knows I enjoyed his lips more than he thought I would.

"Get outta here," he mumbles, snaking his arm out from behind me.

I don't say anything as I leave them. Stumbling into tense situations like that is something I try to avoid. A sigh escapes my lips. "What a disaster," I think aloud.

A few more steps and I begin to notice the Saviors taking mattresses from houses. One after the other. Even for me, it feels wrong to do it. It doesn't feel wrong to take some food, though. I walk into an empty house and begin to eat whatever snacks are in there. There's chips, ice cream, cookies. It's a paradise. I stuff as much as I can into my stomach.

Someone walks in and I freeze in the middle of a bite. The stranger walks around the corner only to gasp in fear. "Oh my god," he breathes. He has a southern accent, somehow different from a lot of the others, but still the same country twang. The mullet man watches me for a moment as if he's waiting for me to say something.

"I didn't mean to scare you," I say. "Is this your house?"

"I do not wish to communicate with the enemy."

I scoff. "The enemy? I'm not the one you need to kill."

"If you'll excuse my assumptions, but you broke into a house to eat ice cream."

"I didn't break in. It was unlocked."

"Same difference."

We stare at each other for longer than necessary. I've never been one to burden regular people, but something told me some of these people aren't your average bear. I break away from our staring contest to finish my bowl of strawberry ice cream.

Mullet man walks away, down the hall somewhere. I don't care for his presence. He's afraid. They all are. Even I am. But, I buried those fears along with my conscience. The only thing that matters to me right now is this bowl of ice cream.

I leave the house and walk further down the street. By now, the powerful opiate I took earlier is beginning to take effect. It feels magical. It feels like I'm going to be alright. All around me, there's anarchy, chaos, people crying and begging. The disgusting souls that make up the Savior's soldiers accost women and girls using foul language and gestures. Their actions give away their past, I think.

It all feels like slow motion as I walk down the sidewalk. All the screams sound muffled. The men and women who walk by me look fuzzy. I don't even see them. I don't hear anything. It's a mute orchestra of fuckery played for shits and giggles. It's an almost violent affair dancing the line of morality. What a fucked up world. I've never seen anything like this in the apocalypse. I've only seen things like this when I served in that ugly desert of corruption. What's happening now isn't far off from what was happening before the world zombified.

I make it down to the gazebo I had seen the preacher at my first time here. My eyelids feel heavy when I sit down on the bench. A few minutes of sleep sounds good to me. A few minutes to rest my worried mind. For once, the racing thoughts and grim flashes of what could go wrong stopped. My mind is blank. I can only think of how absolutely good I feel in this moment.

I feel.. Numb.

I'm not sure how long I've slept, but it looks like all the Saviors left town. My heart begins to pace a little faster. Negan wouldn't leave without me. He'd be mad as hell if I didn't show up.. Right?

The image of Lucille cracking my skull flashed in my eyes. "Shit, fuck, fuck," I curse as I run towards the gate. They're all outside the gate now. I'm the only one left inside, and a feeling of embarrassment overcomes me.

I slip by the people standing by the gate, praying silently that Negan didn't notice. My prayers went unanswered like they always do because Negan's eyes zoom in on me like a hawk. He's staring holes into the back of my head as I make my way to the trucks.

"Gypsy Girl!" He yells with obvious annoyance in his brass voice. I turn around to see him holding a matte black .22 rifle. "Take this from me."

With zero hesitation I walk up and grab the rifle from him. He looks down at me with a smile on his face before leaning in to whisper in my ear. "A gift," he tells me. I'm silent as he turns away from me to continue with demasculating Rick.

It's a long way back to the compound. My mind is wrecked by the end of the day. I'm exhausted and raw. My road rash is oozing into the fabric of my shirt. Although I don't like doctors or feel like going to the infirmary, I find myself sitting in the leather chair being treated by a uniquely nice man. He's calming. I've taken another pill so I'm fine with his poking and prodding.

Negan appears in the doorway with a devilish smirk, and I smile back in repsonse to his unexpected visit.

"You don't need to worry about me," I tell him.

"I can't help it. You're like a delicate flower." He's obviously being sarcastic.

"What is it?" I ask.

"Come see me after you're done here."

I nod at him in acknowledgement. He lingers for a second or two before turning around to leave. If this wasn't the apocalypse his behavior would be considered awkward. At least, to me, it would. It makes me curious about his past, who he was. I haven't talked about it too much. He knows a little about me just from guessing it. He's definitely strange, I think.

Another few minutes pass and the doctor gives me some ointment and bandages to take with me. I make my way down the winding halls and buildings to get to Negan's room. It's easy to get lost in this place. This is the first time I've wandered unaccompanied.

"Hey," a woman's voice calls from the stairwell.

She catches my attention. I stop walking, and look down the unlit staircase, leaning over the railing as I do, my golden hair framing my face like a halo.

"Yeah, you," her voice says, a few feet below me.

"What?" I ask dumbly.

"Come here."

It's usually not wise to listen to disembodied voices in dark places, but I do anyways. I walk down a flight of steps towards the woman's voice. It turns out to be a pale brunette woman around my age. She's smoking a cigarette and I don't hesitate to ask for one. She's eyeing me up and down as I light it.

"What's your name?" She asks.

I shrug. "I don't have one."

"Come on, you have to have a name. Not even one you've made up?"

I shake my head. In all honesty, I do have a name, but it's not for some strange woman in a skin-tight black dress to know.

"I'm Sherry."

"It's nice to meet you," I say politely. I'm puffing on my cigarette faster now in hopes of having a good excuse to leave her presence.

"I'm one of Negan's wives."

Her game is obvious. It instantly gives me a sick feeling in my stomach. I've never wanted to meet one of his wives only because the dynamic confuses me. It's weird. He's overcompensating for something by having a harem, and I'm sure it's not his dick. It has to be something that's fucked him up. Everyone has different ways in which their issues manifest themselves.

"Thanks for the cigarette," I say before ascending the stairs.

"Be careful," Sherry warns ominously.

I aggressively ignore her. She's instantly turned me off like a light switch. I try to shake the encounter off before seeing Negan. The less I'm invested in his world, the better. For now, it's wise for me to stay away from him as much as I can without pissing him off for reasons that will become obvious later. The rifle he's given me is just the beginning.

At his door I wait a moment before knocking. The drugs in my system prevent any kind of anxiety, but I'm still apprehensive. It's like I'm at the edge and he will be the one to pull me down. It's an unwanted feeling, but I can't shake it no matter how hard I try.

"Gypsy Girl!" His voice echoes from beyond the door. "I know you're out there."


	7. Chapter Seven: There's No Looking Back

Chapter Seven: No Looking Back

"Hey. Babydoll," Negan greets. He's excited about something, and I give him a puzzled look. Then I notice he has the .22 rifle he had given me earlier on his desk.

"I was thinking a bit of target practice," Negan says.

We walk side by side down the halls and around corners through the complex. Every person kneeled for him, for Negan. I still think it's a dumb gimmick. It's not right, but that's how this egomaniac saw himself. He doesn't see it as a gimmick or social conditioning. The kneeling feeds his self-esteem. I'm sure he knows it's ridiculous, but he commands it because he can.

We arrive on the outskirts of the factory where a fence keeps in walkers. They're people that worked here once, but for one reason or the other, they did something wrong in Negan's eyes. They broke the rules and serve as a reminder.

A few prisoners are out there doing something. I'm not sure what they're doing. Looks like they're trying to not get bitten. We're standing on a ramp that leads down to the open ground around the fence. It feels amazing to have a weapon once more. It's everything I am. However I wish I had my old rifle back. I customized the stock to fit better. This one, although rather nice, isn't the same. It's cheaper.

"Let's see what you got," Negan says as he crosses his arms.

I shrug. "Okay."

I use the railing as a stabilizer as I aim down the sights. Impressing him isn't on the forefront of my mind because he already knows how dangerous I am. I take out a few walkers with ease, and stand up to look at him. I'm expressionless. I'm void. There's nothing going through my mind. It's second nature to me.

"Holy shit, Sniper Girl. How do you do that?"

I take a breath in before looking back at the Walkers and exhale heavily. "I trained."

"That's not only training. That's instinct." Negan looks over the walkers before giving me an order. His words make my heart jump.

"Kill one of the prisoners." He looks me in the eye like he knows how it makes me feel, and smirks when I don't have an answer. Negan takes a step closer. Then another. When he does, he usually has a point to make. This time he only has one order. "Do. It."

"Negan, I..."

The man before me grabs my shirt, bunches it up in a fist, and pulls me close to his face. His eyes have a look of fury. He desperately wants my loyalty, and I choose to question him on it. I shove him away from me, and it ignites a fiery calm within him.

"What's the point? You know I can kill them all in a matter of seconds."

He shakes his head at me like a disappointed parent.

"Why are you questioning it, Asad?"

My mind stops. "H-h-"

"Dwight." He answer casually.

I turn my head away, gripping my rifle tighter. I know how this will end if I don't do what he says. I know what will happen if I refuse to prove my loyalty. My feelings aren't supposed to control me like they do. It's something I've always had a problem with. I'm too far in, though. I'm too invested in this to leave. I could. But.. There's something that draws me to these people. Something that pulls me into the hate and destruction.

"Hello! Earth to Major Tom! I'm talking to you." Negan interrupts my thoughts. "Goddamn, you freak me out when you do that, Sniper Girl."

"You're a piece of shit."

I aim my rifle upwards, and all at once, take in the wind conditions and position of my target. He looks afraid. He looks in hell. Maybe I'm doing him a favor. The bullet cracks through the air and into the guy's head. He falls over like a ragdoll. The walkers quickly crawl to him to eat the remains.

I close my eyes to stop tears from flowing. This is no place to be weak. Not in front of him. Not here.

Negan is close to me again. I can tell even with my eyes closed. His body heat and leathery smell linger. "Thank you," he mutters. His lips touch mine. It's a soft kiss, but I don't kiss him back. I'm angry. Furious. The drugs in my system are beginning to fade, and I desperatley want to get back to my new room and take two more.

"Drop the Robinhood act," he accuses with a breathy laugh. He puts a hand up to my cheek, softly rubbing under my eye with his thumb. I stare into his dark orbs with no hesitation in my eyes. I am steady.

"I know what you're doing."

"Enlighten me, Sniper Girl," he says. He backs off of me to wistfully throw a hand in the air. Then he leans against the metal factory wall behind him. He sighs. I know he's upset because he wants me as an attack dog that he also feels affection for. If I die, will it hurt him?

I shake my head out of annoyance. Truth is, I don't know what I want.

"Well, come on."

"Cat got your tongue?"

"You want me to prove my loyalty to you. Do you need it to validate my feelings for you?" I say.

Negan's eyes widen in surprise.

"And don't give me that put on you use when you want your way. It's getting old."

Negan begins laughing at me. His laugh is dark and deep. I watch him for a few moments. Negan comes up for air, and brushes strands of black hair from his face with one smooth move of his hand. The twinkle in his eye isn't the one of a small child in awe. The spark in his eye comes from the dark place in his mind.

"I don't believe you're in your right mind, Asad. I think you should get some rest."

He moves closer to me, but I take a few steps back. The sound of my boots hitting the cold steel is the last sound I hear before the world goes black. I stumble back, hitting the railing, and pause for a second. My mouth is numb.

"I never hit a woman before, but you're something else entirely."

"Bullshit! You're mad because you can't get your way!" I yell from my position on the ground. I can feel pain again. Everything's coming back to me. My senses are no longer dapmneded by man made chemicals.

I stand, look behind me towards the chain link palace wall.

"You won't get far," Negan comments.

My demeanor changes. I'm angry at Negan, The Saviors, The Alexandrians for not standing up, but most of all I'm angry at myself. My fists tighten. My nails dig into the calluses on my hands.

"How would you feel if I died due to one of your orders?" I ask.

Negan eyes me. "Bad.." He says nonchalantly. "Really bad."

"What is this? What do you even see me as, if not a wife?"

"A soldier." He answers. "Now, let me turn this around here, and ask YOU some questions. What are you doing cuddling up to me?"

I'm silent.

"Is it my good-looks? My charm? I know it's not sex because you're not so willing to hop on mine like the others. Is it the death and killing that you're into? Because, honey, there are things I can do to you that will have you on your knees in ecstasy."

"I don't know why I'm here," I reveal. "Or why I kiss you. Why I want it."

"Do you like my attention?"

I look at him to discover a shit eating grin spread across his face. He's enjoying this. Anything that strokes his ego is a good thing. My fury is multiplied ten-fold. He has a leash on me already. He makes me doubt the reasons I'm here and shapes them into something he likes – himself.

"Fuck you!" I yell at the top of my lungs. I lunge forward to attack him, dropping the rifle in the process. He's a man, bigger and taller than me, but weak points and leverage are all I need to take him down. He defends himself, but his exposed forearm has already sealed his fate. My foot behind his left leg, and the force of being pulled send Negan flying down the metal ramp. His body falls near the end of the ramp and he's cursing and spitting like a mad dog the entire time.

I pick up the rifle, putting the strap over my shoulder.

"Asad, Asad, Asad," he sighs.

"Shut the fuck up, Negan. You're worthless."

"All this over having to kill some guy. Let me tell you, baby, I've never argued with a chick like this. Listen, I'll give you one chance to apologize. I say take it." He stands up and watches me.

"Is that what's best for me or for you?"

"I won't lie. You're a hell of a shot. You're smart. You know Guerilla warfare, self-defense, and have a knack for killing people. You love killing, don't you? But only if it fits within your morals. You could have been my agent or some shit. All the dumb rednecks I recruit are fearless and vile. But they get the job done."

"They're used to scare people."

"Exactly! You never miss anything, Sniper Girl. That's why all the normal people work in the garden or cleaning or some shit, but you're not normal. I know that. And You know that."

"I don't want to live my life under you."

"You won't have a life without me," he angrily yells. "Me and you are more alike than you realize."

"Get out of my way."

Negan throws his hands up in frustration. I know he wants to own me completely, but I can't find a reason to stay. There's no life being someone's pet. The little morals I have left don't allign with his. It will end badly between us. I will miss his touch and his smile. It saddens me we can't become closer to each other.

"Move!"

"Make me," he retorts.

"Don't make me hurt you."

"You already have, Gypsy Girl."

I scoff. "That throw didn't hurt you."

He sighs. "You're leaving me.." He mutters. "This is.. THIS IS SO NOT COOL!"

Negan grunts in anger and frustration. He begins to act like a child who is upset recess is over. The sun shines behind him in perfect harmony. It calls to me, behind this cage, and I feel my heart drop. I want to be free.

"Do you know what you're doing to me?" He asks in a hoarse voice. There's sadness in his brown eyes.

"No," I answer. I slowly walk down the ramp to him. I put a hand on the side of his face. He looks to me. Negan embraces me in a tight hug. I can hear him breathing raggedly into my jacket. I shouldn't be in his arms right now, but I've become attached to this psychopath. He's wrong. What he's doing is immoral. The way he treats people is downright despicable. I should snap his neck right now.

I know he feels how tense I am, but he doesn't let go. I'm expecting a knife in my gut at any moment. It's another reason I refuse to stay with The Saviors. This metaphorical leash Negan keeps tugging on is becoming too constricting.

"Will you come back?" Negan asks with his face buried in my shoulder.

His sensitivity shocks me. It's unnerving and unexpected. There are a million questions running through my mind in this moment. However the question of Negan genuinely caring for me has been answered.

"Answer." He tells me as he moves his head to look me in the eyes. My lips part to speak, but I can't form anything coherent. The realization of his affection being true has shut down every sense I have.

Negan lets go of me, slumps to the ground in a heap, and I walk away from him without words. My footsteps crunch the gravel beneath my boot heels. An arrant wind blows from the west. A blackbird flies overhead. I walk away from the factory. There's no looking back now.

There's no looking back.


	8. Chapter Eight: Space Lord

_Chapter Eight: Space Lord_

Negan lets me gather my things – my backpack, drugs, and rifle. He isn't happy with me leaving, and he isn't there when I do. Negan, despite being right about me, isn't good for me. He's self-destruction. I have to stop myself from falling into darkness completely. Learning that someone like him truly cares for me makes me question my being. Shit.. Negan, of all people. I would have never dreamed this is where I'd find someone I... It doesn't matter anymore.

I'm half-way to Hilltop now with a bunch of Saviors in the back of a moving truck. The cool breeze sweeps across my tear-stained cheeks. The sun is in full bloom today, and warming the world into Spring. This place we're going to is somewhat of a peaceful community. They have no weapons, but a lot of produce, which the Saviors are given. I'll wait until they leave and then make my appearance. I'll be a stranger once more. A nameless vagabond.

It's where I belong in this world. It's what I tell myself when I feel lonely.

We arrive and I jump off a few miles away to give them some time to do their scare tactics. Waves of guilt and sadness run through me with every step I take. It isn't fair someone like him is dominating so much of my mind. If he didn't understand my reasons, he wouldn't have let me go freely. I would give anything to be in his embrace, but those thoughts are quickly stomped out along with my cigarette butt.

It'd be night soon. The Savior leading the escapade said he'd make the mayor let me in. He said there'd be word, and I wouldn't have any trouble getting in. Negan's doing, no doubt. I spend some time near a stream, enjoying nature, basking in my new found freedom. When I hear the caravan pass by on the road, I make my way towards Hilltop.

There I find a small community of farmers, talkers, and country wanderers. I'm let in without a problem through a back gate. The mayor tells me no one knows my affiliation. I tell the Mayor I'm not a Savior. He just gives me a weird look and waves me off.

I take a room in the large mansion overlooking the rest of the small compound. When I'm going through my things, I find a note. It's written by Negan to me. Except he doesn't address me by name or Sniper Girl. It's written to, "the one that's not getting away." An inexplicable smile crosses my face. I want to burst out laughing due to the absurdity of this man.

"Despite your dumb reason for leaving, I still want you. I want to break everything in my goddamn field of view when I think about not having you. I didn't want to scare you away. I scare everyone away. I didn't want to lose you, but I get carried away. Come back soon before I completely lose it, find you, and drag you back myself. With all my heart."

I crumple the note up into a ball and free throw it to the other side of the room. I've become involved with a maniac. Someone crazier than I am. Someone who completely confounds my mind into frayed edges and hot wires.

"What a prick," I think aloud as I lay down on the bed. The drapes are open giving me a good view of the overcast tree line. I peer over at my rifle. It's a thing of beauty. A matte black Dakota Longbow I nabbed from some gun store up in Atlanta. I might've pried it from the cold dead hands of the owner after engaging in a lengthy gun fight in the middle of downtown Atlanta with him.

It was around the beginning of the apocalypse that I got the gun. A few days after these fucking things started popping up all over the map, people were in a frenzy to leave the city. I lived outside of Atlanta in one of those shitty neighborhoods with gang violence and crack heads. My house was a piece of shit. I was only able to make the monthly payments through VA assistance. Disability due to mental health, is the not nice words for it.

Back then, my name was Chloe Montz. My past is hard to think about. Even now, in this comfortable bed in a safe place, thinking about it makes me feel like I'm back there in the armpit of the world. Outside of Atlanta wasn't much different than a war zone. No one really messed with me much because of my reputation. I was pretty much living alone except for my family who I visited often. They kept me grounded. However they didn't know about my mental issues, and I lied to them about having a job.

In reality, I simply shut the world out.

When an evacuation was called, about nine in the morning, I simply knew the interstate would be backed up for miles. There were random acts of violence all around the city. My neighborhood was completely empty save for a few walkers who ambled about in no particular order. When I left my house, with my bug-out-bag and weapons, I ignored the lingering monsters. My car, a piece of shit Honda, refused to start the first few times.

At the time, I felt completely focused on survival. There was no way of knowing what was going to happen to me or my family. Looking back now, however, I had so much adrenaline in me at the time I'm surprised my heart didn't burst into a bloody mess inside my chest cavity. I eventually had to get out and use a portable starter to get my car running which attracted a lot of attention from the walkers. I had no information besides the news telling me people were coming back from the dead to kill the living.

I couldn't believe it. It was hard to watch people being torn apart. When it first happened, everything was fresh. The walkers were new. They looked human save for the chunks of dripping, bloody flesh missing from different parts of their bodies. It was a nightmare. And, my family, they didn't make it five minutes in.

My heart turned to stone in that moment. I'm not sure what's been keeping me going all this time, but they were what I lived for. I put them out of their misery as quickly as I could. I had to get out of there after a few minutes. I had to leave their bodies behind or risk being eaten alive, too.

I drove into Atlanta, but there was no leaving the city. I couldn't get out. There were cars jammed on every road out of the place. To put it bluntly, I was pretty fucked. I spent a few nights inside abandoned buildings. Death wasn't, and isn't, something new to me. I was accustomed to the feeling of it. Most people go their whole lives without experiencing it on a large scale, but for the people who do, it's indescribable.

It's something someone would have to go through to truly understand. The smell of it, the heaviness in the air, and the feeling of sickness. It's something I'll always carry with me.

After a few days of surviving, I heard shots echo through the tall buildings. Of course, there were walkers crammed from wall to wall in that fucking place. It was tricky getting from one place to another, but I used my head, my cleverness, and tact. It wasn't too hard once I got used to the patterns of the walkers. They had distinct behavioral habits.

The source of the shooting was a man atop a rather impressive, and large, gun store. He was taking out walkers one by one. It was a waste of ammo, but maybe he was just bored. It looked like he was trapped in there. I silently watched him from afar, from an alleyway, as he picked off walkers.

The rifle he was using was powerful. Despite my expertise, I didn't own a rifle at the time. I only had a 9MM and an AR-15. They were two very accessible guns. I obtained them illegally through private sellers because of my inability to buy one legally. The neighborhood I lived in had it's perks sometimes.

I came up with a plan to get as close to this guy as possible without being eaten or spotted by him. It took a lot of mentally assuring myself I'd be fine. I've run into crossfire before. It's not hard – keep my head down, run low, keep awareness. It worked for the first few yards, but quickly fell apart when rifle bullets started whizzing by my ear. I made it into an alley where I found a side door to one of the bigger apartment buildings.

I made it to the roof and crawled to the edge of the landing. Looking through my binoculars, I noticed that the sniper had lost sight of me. He was actively looking for me now. He had stopped firing at the walkers altogether. I remember how my heart beat hard against my chest, and how ragged my breathing was. It makes me smile now. I've come a long way since then.

I thought he was a sitting duck, but my weapon was unsteady and the rounds I fired at him barely missed him. He jumped back behind the AC unit atop the gun store. I scrambled to find another hiding spot while he fired at me. It went on like that for hours. I finally hit him, and he retreated into his store. It was boarded up, and Walkers crowded around outside of it. My want for the gun outlived every worry I had for my well-being. Besides, my own life isn't very high on my priority list. It's trash. Something to be thrown away.

I found a car with keys in it, and decided the best plan I could come up with was to ram the vehicle into the storefront. Thereby letting in the walkers and possibly hurting myself in the process. It was the first plan I came up with, and it was the one I went with.

The collision wasn't that bad. The impact was hard, but not enough to set off the airbags. Walkers moaned for my flesh as I crawled from the wreckage. I had only a few seconds before total destruction. I found the guy inside, barely breathing, a bloody mess from various gunshot wounds to his abdomen.

"Go fuck yourself," he choked. His eyes looked drained already. He barely clung to life.

I didn't say anything as I grabbed the rifle from his cold hands. What I didn't notice is the two squares of C4 the guy had rigged up for just this occasion. Before I knew it, the guy held up the detonator, and once again told me to go fuck myself. My eyes went wide. I ran like hell into the wall of walkers behind me, and a few seconds later the explosion shook the ground I landed on. It might've been the walkers shielding me from the blast or just dumb luck, but I lived with only minor wounds and hearing loss. The burns and embedded shrapnel hurt the worst, but my new rifle made it hurt a lot less.

Not long after that, I discovered one of my old friends trapped in the city. He commented that I looked like shit, and I told him the same. It was hard to get out of the city, but we did it together. He was an old biker. Well, not too much older than me, but his personality told others not to fuck with him. He was rough. His name was Ace. I'm not sure what his real name was. I guess it doesn't matter now.

Ace was a quiet man. He had let his beard grow longer than normal. We were very egalitarian towards each other. The food we found ended up split evenly between us. Total respect was the name of our game until one day he decided he wanted to stay in one of the communities we came across. I assume he's still there to this day. It was somewhere in South Carolina.

Then, I made my way back to Georgia for some reason. My intent was to head to California to see the ocean, but I kept getting sidetracked along the way.

Whatever it was that kept me caught up in whatever life I found has lead me to where I am now. I've met a lot of people on the road. It was mostly bad, and usually ended in bloodshed for someone. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. It's needed sometimes, I suppose. There were a lot of orphans. Everyone lost their most of their family when it all went to shit. It made me realize I'm not the only one who has suffered. It didn't make me feel any better about it, though.

Eventually, I got better and better at surviving. My rifle became my guardian angel. I felt like a mountain. I was impossible to kill. Most of my time was spent hunting new gun parts, finding food, and fighting. It's easy to kill, but it was exhilarating at times when tougher opponents came along. The times I feel like death is close are the only moments of my life I feel truly alive.

A soft knock on the door snaps me out of my revery. I look up to see it's a man with long hair and piercing eyes. He's hard to read, and reminds me of an ancient statue of beauty.

"Asad?" He asks.

"My name is Jesus," He says.

A smirk crosses my lips. "Jesus?"

This should be fun.


	9. Chapter Nine: Burning Desire

_Chapter Nine: I've Got a Burning Desire For You, Baby_

Jesus and I walked along the gardens together. I enjoyed the flowers and light breeze hitting my face. The setting sun during golden hour was a sight to behold. It was absolutely beautiful. I didn't say much to Jesus, and he was quiet, too. He was very calming to be around. His eyes were captivating. For the first time in awhile I felt myself becoming quiet due to anxiety. I can feel the heat rise up in my cheeks before I realize just what emotion is making me feel like this.

"It's beautiful," Jesus comments.

"What?" I quickly say.

"The sunset."

"Oh."

An awkward silence stays between us for a minute or two before Jesus speaks up again. His voice is even as he tells me he knows I'm a Savior. He also tells me, with a strange calmness, that he isn't going to hold it against me.

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask.

"Because.." He trails off as if he's thinking of the right words to say.

"You want to know about the compound? About Negan?"

He stops walking, as do I, and he looks me in the eyes with sincerity. It's as if he's trying not to offend me. I look away from him. It's hard not to feel some sort of embarrassment when I look at him. It absolutely kills me.

"I never was a Savior." I try to explain. What should I tell him? I can't tell him the truth.

"It doesn't matter. I want to know if you're up to talking about it."

Can I? It would be betraying Negan. His firm hold on my mind is still there. I'm not afraid of Negan. I'm fascinated with him. The slow burn of desire for him is still in my heart. As much as I hate myself for it, I can't let him go. And, I can't let myself betray him.

"I can see you're conflicted," Jesus says.

My eyes go wide for a moment before realizing I've been staring at one of the flowers. Jesus laughs at me. His laugh is as beautiful as he is. A soft, easy sound.

"That's Lilac," he says as he bends down to pick it. He places the stem in my hands. "It represents first love." He walks off with his hands behind his back, chuckling at me, as I stand there like an idiot. My cheeks are burning by this point, and it makes me mad. Inside, I'm fucking furious, but I let my anger go, and in it's place, a feeling of.. Contentment replaces it. I softly smile at his retreating figure.

I go back to my room in the mansion. The door lock clicks and I don't waste any time getting my drugs ready. I lay out a lighter, a pill, and a cut straw on the nightstand. It takes me minutes to crush the bold white oval into white powder with the lighter. Then, I chop it up into thick lines. After snorting the substance, I use water to clear my nostrils and create a drip in the back of my mouth.

The bed swallows me as I lie back in it.

Time stands still for me in this moment. I'm staring up at the ceiling, and the ceiling stares back at me.

Negan's face flashes in my mind. His handsome features. His dark eyes that promise kinky fantasies. His tall and lanky body he uses with such fluidity and power. The smell of leather and soap. And, most of all, he wants me. Negan's desire for me makes me feel good about myself. Imagine what he could do to me. Such violent power like a hurricane off the coast.

I would touch myself if I didn't feel so numb.

"I'm.. Sorry." I whisper. The words flow from my lips like soft wind. It's my apology for leaving Negan. It's my apology for denying my true self. My eyes close momentarily, but I will myself to stay awake. Tears begin to stream down my tanned cheeks, and I take in a heavy gulp of air. "I'm sorry.." I repeat one last time before succumbing to the drugs in my system.

The sun shining through the drapes wakes me. The light outside flickers for a second before burning bright again. My sleepy mind reminds me that it's not normal for sunlight to do that, and I stumble over to the window.

"Fuck," I mutter.

A burning care blaring classical music has been driven through the front gate of Hilltop like a comet from the heavens. It's the Savior's doing. And, it's a reminder they're not above this kind of shit. I grab my coat and rifle and head to the front balcony. I start picking off the walkers inside the gates. Jesus and a few others are already out there, and I quickly learn Hilltop holds more than farmers and country bumkins.

They're fighters. Or, some of them are, at least. The music is loud and disorientating. It's interesting to be surrounded by so much chaos and violence. I try aiming for where I think the battery is on the car to shut the fucking thing off.

A tractor runs over the car. It's quiet now except for the moans of the walkers and the people yelling to each other. A short-haired woman jumps out of the tractor with an obvious victorious grin on her face. I don't know who she is, but she's smart.

I catch eyes with Jesus who is standing below me in the yard. His look tells me more than words ever can. "I know," I say, unsure if he can hear me.

The next day, I make it down to the Savior's compound. The Mayor let me borrow a car for the day. That old man let me do anything really. I didn't have to worry about food or showers. I'm watching the compound from a distance like some sort of weird animal. It's only been a day, but I had to come here to clear my mind.

The day after that, I do the same.

After coming back to Hilltop and settling in for the evening, Jesus comes to me with plans to hide on one of the moving trucks. He tells me he will do it when the Savior's come for supplies.

"You're insane," I tell him.

He laughs at me. "Maybe."

We're sitting near the window in separate chairs. His looks are deceiving I think as I watch him. He kicked ass the other night fighting those walkers. His hand-to-hand combat is remarkable. It makes me curious, and I can't stop myself from asking. Jesus avoids the question.

"Show me what you got," I challenge him. A smile spreads across my face at his reaction, which is none. The man has come here to ask me for my help, and I challenge him to a sparring match. I shouldn't expect him to be welcoming to the idea. "Well, if you're afraid."

Jesus chuckles at me. "Okay, Asad," he finally answers.

"Something tells me you're gonna hold back."

"Never," he slyly retorts.

We're now standing across from each other in my bedroom. We both take our respective stances. We don't say anything to each other as we spar. Jesus is good. Too good. He's kicking my ass, and I'm barely keeping up with him. He's redirecting everything I throw at him. It's impossible to find an opening on him, and while my mind's busy thinking about how to get at him, Jesus lands an elbow in my side. He hits me hard, and I begin to fall to my knees, but he uses the opportunity to catch me from falling.

"You knocked my breath out," I say quietly as he holds me.

"You're like a brick wall, Asad," he answers. "Your defense is amazing, but I saw your eyes were distant. That's when I hit you."

I nod because that's all I can do at the moment. Jesus lays me down on my back as I regain my normal breathing. Jesus watches me for a moment before he places a strong hand on my chest. He's applying a small amount of pressure.

"Breathe in when I say so, and breathe out."

I do as he says. My cheeks begin to heat up again like they did in the garden, and my mind goes crazy thinking about him. The room seems to close in on me. These feelings aren't helping my breathing. I do as he says for a few more moments before I tell him I'm fine.

"You're amazing, Jesus," I compliment him, still a little out of breath. "Can you teach me?"

Jesus looks down for a moment. "I will, but only if you draw me a map."

"This again," I blurt out without thinking. I turn away from him to sit back in the chair, and soon after the smell of cigarette smoke wafts through the room. "Fine."

I can hear Jesus breathe a sigh of relief.

"If Negan dies, it's his own damn fault," I mutter.

"I won't kill Negan," Jesus assures.

"No, no, that's not what I meant," I struggle to clarify, but it is how it sounds. It's exactly how it sounds. I wonder if Jesus knows that.

"Then what do you mean?" He prods a little.

"I don't know what I mean," I say as Jesus hands me a pen and some paper. I begin to draw a map of what I remember, which isn't much. I tell the man across from me that I'm not sure how accurate my drawing is, but he tells me it doesn't matter. He needs a way in. "Here."

Jesus takes it and looks at it studiously. It's a hack job, but it will get him in there. Jesus said he won't kill Negan, and I silently hope it's true.

That night I can't sleep despite the copious amounts of alcohol and drugs in my system. I try to kill the pain every night, but my mind refuses to shut itself off. There are too many questions in my mind. There are too many conflicting emotions.

I go outside to walk the gardens in a vain attempt to find peace of mind. It's freezing outside this early in the morning. I hug myself tighter for warmth. There's all kinds of flowers and herbs in the patches of dirt. The rising sun is barely showing itself over the mountain tops. Above, the stars shine bright with clarity. The smell of a campfire fills my nostrils.

Something in me reminds me it's better to walk away from anything that causes me distress like this. I should leave. I should take one of the cars and leave with supplies. This unholy war between these people will be a distant memory in time. A foggy memory my mind unlocks for me with the help of pain and alcohol.

What would Negan think of me helping out Jesus? I laugh to myself at the thought of his reaction. I wonder if he'd kill me. I wonder if he'd be jealous. Negan tried so hard to get me to like him. He tried to cast his spell on me like he did everyone else. Unlike the others, I can take care of myself. It's what I do to survive. It's a different side of the same coin. In this world, we all do what we can to stay alive.

"Can't sleep?" Jesus asks from some dark corner.

His voice isn't startling. I half-expected him to show up out here. Jesus must have been watching me from somewhere for awhile before approaching me. That's what kind of person he is. He's observant, smart, and trepidatious.

"No," I answer, looking at him.

He shrugs and comes walking to my side. His gait is uncaring and somehow still controlled. Jesus' slight upturn of lips isn't missed by me.

"Sorry about hitting you earlier."

I laugh. "It's fine."

We walk together in silence except it's not awkward this time. I'm enjoying someone being near me this time. He makes himself comfortable in my presence. We approach two grave plots and I stop. I'm staring at the two piles of dirt when Jesus speaks up.

"Abe and Glenn. The Alexandrians Negan killed."

The words are a spear through my heart. These two graves remind me of who Negan really is. It reminds me of who I really am on the inside. The maniac was right – we are a lot more alike than I know. Maybe he was just trying to get me to accept that.

"I was there that night," I say. "I was watching from the trees. That's where I gave myself up to the Saviors."

Jesus looks puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Before that night, I was just a vagabond. I was picking off Negan's soldiers like flies. Raiding Savior supply caches. Then, I just.. I decided I wanted to see what they were all about."

Jesus is quiet for a moment. "Did you find what you were looking for?" He asks.

"Yes," I answer. "It seems to have caused me more pain than good. Do you have anything to say about that? About why I feel so fucked up inside. Why I feel so bad."

Jesus looks serious. The light that emanates from him dampens upon hearing my words. The slight smile he had disappears.

"Usually when we go seeking answers.." He begins. "We end up with more questions. Is it worth it to you?"

"I'm beginning to think it isn't."

Jesus puts a hand on my shoulder to tell me he's still there. "Don't kill yourself over it. Sometimes it's better to go with the flow. You're here now. That has to mean something."

I look at his hand and then at his face. His smile is back now. His blue eyes are enhanced by the early dawn light.

"Maybe it does," I say before turning to leave.

"We should talk more," Jesus calls to me softly.

I pause.

"Goodnight," I tell him.

The next day Simon is there with his men to collect supplies. He finds me watching from the stairs. Simon's gaze makes me feel dirty and vulnerable. The man with the mustache has crazy eyes, and I can see why Negan chose him to run this operation.

"Negan wanted me to give you this," he says, handing me a folded piece of paper. I open it to find another note from the maniac himself. Before I get to read it, Simon speaks up. "You know, if you're into bad boys, I can help you." He moves in closer to touch my hair. "You've got a killer body."

I grab his hand using the pressure points Jesus taught me. His arm bends in a horrific way, and he yells in pain, looking at me with those crazy eyes filled with horror. I let go after a few seconds. Simon stumbles backwards off the stairs. Then he looks up at me with complete dread.

"I was joking," he mutters.

"What are you waiting for?" I ask.

"Go ahead. Read it." He answers.

I look at the note. With Simon's gaze on me, I try not to show too much reaction towards Negan's words. Instead I turn it around on him just to get him to leave.

"Negan won't like it when I tell him you read his private letter. He might feel embarrassed. Then.. He might get angry."

Simon scoffs before walking off.

I go in search of Jesus, trying to catch him before he leaves on the truck. There's a crowd of people in Hilltop today. Savior's mixed in with the farmers. Some faces I recognize and I try my best to walk fast and hide my face. Jesus has to be around here somewhere. I go outside the gates to look around the trucks, but I can't find him.

I give up my search and return to my room to watch the trucks leave. The Savior's trickle out of Hilltop like ants leaving the colony. The big white moving vans start up one by one. Then, they leave. Rage consumes me like a bad disease, but I use self-control to contain it.

"Three days," I say aloud. "What bullshit."


End file.
